PRIORITY RED
by Alfenide
Summary: PRIORITY RED has always been S.H.I.E.L.D. to the core - warriors and soldiers that went in first and came out last, hit hard and never looked back. Only, things are a little more Inhuman then they were before. The accords have legitimatized them. Their abilities have established them. PRIORITY RED as been reinstated per Director's orders. So get to work. [Inhuman/Powered SYOC]
1. ROTA

.

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This is what the world is; insane and changing and never standing still, and this is the part they play. A seven-man team, PRIORITY RED has always been S.H.I.E.L.D. to the core - warriors and soldiers that went in first and came out last, hit hard and never looked back.

Only, this time, things are a little more Inhuman then they were before.

The accords have legitimatized them. Their abilities have established them. PRIORITY RED as been reinstated per the Director's orders.

So get to work.

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 **PRIORITY RED**

 **CHARACTER ROTA**

 **PRIORITY RED:**

 **PR OPERATIVE COMMANDER:** Winston T. Bezuidenhout [CIVILLIAN, 12/10/2016] **  
PR OPERATIVE 1:** John "Dutch" Dutcheval [ME, 12/10/2016] **  
PR OPERATIVE 2:** Micah Abbey Levitan [CANIMA, 13/10/2016]  
 **PR** **OPERATIVE** **3:** Raven Montgomery [BAMBOOZLED, 15/10/2016] **  
** **PR OPERATIVE 4:** Desiree Winters [RAINISMYMUSIC, 15/10/2016]  
 **PR OPERATIVE 5:** Kennedy Davenport [ALLLEGSNODAIRY 12/10/2016]  
 **PR OPERATIVE 6:** Damien Leon [NEVERSAYDIE72 12/10/2016]  
 **PR OPERATIVE 7:** Kaili Pakele [GINGERSNAPBEAT 13/10/2016]  
 **PR OPERATIVE 8:** Cassandra Walsh [HEADLESSGUMMYBEAR 14/10/2016]  
 **PR OPERATIVE 9:** Elijah Browning [ULTRACOMMANDO0946]

 **SUPPORT OP 1:** D. W. "Charlie" Charles [TEASREADY, 12/10/2016] **  
SUPPORT OP 2:** Regina Pasternak [ROSEMARIE BENSON, 12/10/2016]  
 **SUPPORT OP 3:** Dante Lucen [SARIUS909 14/10/2016]  
 **SUPPORT OP 4:** Sullivan M. Salvius [ME, 29/10/2016]

 **NEUTRAL INHUMANS:**

 **NEUTRAL 1:** Genevieve Mahoney [NORSEYHORSE, 12/10/2016] **  
NEUTRAL 2:** Eleanor Leah Hayes [LADYMORGANPENDRAGON, 13/10/2016] **  
NEUTRAL 3:** Julian Sawyer [CIVERS, 22/10/2016] **  
NEUTRAL 4:** Daniel Pasqualone [ME, 28/20/2016] **  
NEUTRAL 5:** Alexandra Dreyfuss [E.A. 31/10/2016]

 **OPPOSING "ENEMY" INHUMANS :  
**

 **OPPOSITION 1:** Romulus II [WEWHODEVIDEBYZERO, 12/10/2016] **  
OPPOSITION 2:** Robert Major [NORSEYHORSE, 15/10/2016] **  
OPPOSITION 3:** Samael [CANIMA, 29/10/2016] **  
****OPPOSITION 4:** Cyrus Sager [CIVERS, 29/10/2016] **  
** **OPPOSITION 5:**

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 **.**

 **Ya'll want info on this? Click the next chapter button for more. This is to just keep things clean.**


	2. INFOMATION

_***SMASHES THROUGH A WALL IN A DISGUSTINGLY UNTIMELY AND HORRIBLY UNDIGNIFIED FASHION***_

I'm BACK!

 _Ish_.

Main computer is at home so, uh, STALINGRAD is waiting to be transferred via OneDrive when my parents come from their holidays. I looked onto my documents folder and proceeded to white-out until I realised that, duh, new computer new harddrive. For those who don't know, HI! I now live in [insert European country here]. I do things with numbers. It's all very adult-like.

And this is a new-ly-ish developed SYOC that attempts to continue on from where Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. left us off. To keep up with cannon, and to stay accurate, many of my former SYOC's have been put into storage and will slowly be corrected over time. As for now; Inhumans, man, and the Accords. What an exciting time.

Let's have a play with this new world development the MCU has thrown in our direction, shall we?

Also, we do not speak of CW. Okay? I don't want to fight with people. We do not fight here. We are civilized human beings, yes? Also that film left me feeling uncomfortable, for reasons entirely personal and from a perceptive of having done some intense A-levels in Law, Policy, and Government. See, I'm not American, so you can probably imagine my reaction to half of what was going on in that film. It's not good and it's not bad, lets just put it that way.

But Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. is here so, yay. A SYOC, anyone?

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 **PRIORITY RED**

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For those who are familiar with my earlier SYOC, _STALINGRAD_ , you probably know the drill by now. Character biography is at the bottom, and a copy and past version can be found on my own bio.

For those who are not familiar, however:

Welcome to my new Submit Your Own Character Fic.

This will not, likely, go into detail about Coulson's team per se; it'll be in the same timeline (Post-Season 4 and a little into ep. 1 and then gradually works along with the rest of the series, usually three or four episodes behind at every given point) but this is more of a branching out fic than anything. A dip into the S.H.I.E.L.D. world. Of course, there will be references to the Avengers and other Marvel films, but mostly it will about how the world of S.H.I.E.L.D. works, and you will see many a familiar character and locations. Just no 'main characters', per say. At least not heavily.

(is it me or are the side characters in this universe, like, infinitely more interesting? is it me just me? oh. okay)

As for now, however, the unfamiliar faces:

Your characters will be separated into three groups: the S.H.I.E.L.D. PRIORITY RED Striketeam, Neutral Inhumans, and Enemy Inhumans. Yes, you can create a bad guy here. Those who do I will PM with privately to get some information that I can't really put on the character due to formatting issues. In short, evil and neutral Inhumans will be the targets/recipients of the 'Outings' or 'Missions' PRIORITY RED is sent on. They may become allies, later on. They may become enemies. It all depends on what you give me. Enemies can be either captured or killed, turned to the Light Side or, if things go badly, neutral Inhumans may fall on the Dark Side or join the PRIORITY RED striketeam. On top of all this, we're moving hand and hand with Season 4.

So, what happens in Season 4 will impact your characters. How exciting.

There will be Seven (+ Commander) Members of PRIORITY RED. Five 'Naturals' and Five 'Baddies'. That is seventeen in total (I will accept late, 'additional' characters). Their ages can be from anything 21+ for PRIORITY RED and 16+ for the baddies and naturals. I know people like young OCs, and granted, I do too, but considering S.H.I.E.L.D's standard and practices, it's only natural) I will add more, but for now, it is a first-come-first-served basis.

Also, **Powers**. Your OCs **ARE** to have powers, as this is an Inhuman (or, otherwise Powered) Striketeam. Go wild. The kiddie gloves are off, folks. Hit me with all you've got.

The Bio will be below:

 **But I Must Warn You Now, Please, With Obnoxious Pronunciation, Capitals, And Attention Grabbing Bold Lettering.**

 **PLEASE, PRETTY PLEASE, DO NOT PUT YOUR BIOs IN _REVIEWS_.  PM ME. DON'T PUT IT IN REVIEWS. IT MAKES IT HARD TO SEE FEEDBACK IF THE FIC's REVIEW BOARD IS FILLED WITH OC BIOGRAPHIES. PM ME. I PROMISE I DON'T BITE.**

 **really!**

Now, that we've got all of the boring stuff out of the way.

I'll put the Bio on my... Bio? (Welp, how fitting.) And you can take a look at the completed version down below for my own OC, Dutchy boy. Once I have them all, you'll see a SHIELD-ish character personnel file at some point. I've got the formatting down, now.

Very much looking forward to seeing what people come up with. I highly enjoy working with new characters, and I do hope some people will find enjoyment in how I portray them.

\- _Alfenide, Over and Out._

 ** _OH._**

 **AND MANY THANKS TO THE CURRENTLY INDISPOSED NORSMEUNGANDR AND THE FOREVERER APPROACHABLE CIVILLIAN, MY TWO CO-AUTHORS.**

 **Now let's get started!**

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Due to formatting, the character rota is on the FIRST chapter. Below is my character's submission file.

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 **AGENT:** DUTCHEVAL

 **Name:** Artificial Tactical Logistic Automated System NR8-00RII.

 **Known Alias/Nicknames:  
** • "ATLAS": The acronym of his complete 'title'. Since Dutch's liberation as of 2008, he hasn't used or otherwise contemplated this former title — he can't even remember it.  
• "Nikolai Ivanovich Alyokhin (Николай Иванович Алёхин)": Another forgotten name; used after production to protect his identity by his manufacturers during transit.  
• "John Dutcheval" / "Dutch": The name he has since come to call himself. Dutch prefers to be called the latter, but will accept being called any variation of the first name, the complete first name, or his full surname.

 **Known Titles:  
** • Agent [S.H.I.E.L.D.]  
• Trooper/Soldier/This Soldier/Operative [S.H.I.E.L.D.]

 **Date of Birth:** Not strictly applicable; but Dutch was activated for the first time on January 25, 2003. **  
Age:** 13 (7 Years in production) Physically, however, Dutch appears to be a male in his late twenties to early thirties; his file has him at 28.

 **Gender:** Being a non-human entity, strictly speaking, Dutch is Agender with Androgynous traits — he was created with no gender preference, until later development where 'he' began to identify with male pronouns. After production, Dutch was given a unit (or, body) that reflects such.

 **Species:** Life-Model Decoy.

 **Ethnicity:** According to his unit specifications, Dutch appears to be a caucasian male. **  
Nationality :** N/A, strictly speaking. Dutch was manufactured and developed in Russia, however, after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. his core personality was 'wiped', thus leaving him without any prior nation of origin to his knowledge. He identifies as American, on paper.

Physical Characteristics

 **Appearance:** If un-remarkability was the ultimate goal, Dutch would be considered a masterpiece; the ultimate creation of the former-S.H.I.E.L.D. scientist Anton Zakharovich Yolkov, Dutch is considered the endgame of the late Life-Model-Decoy program of the prior first incarnation S.H.I.E.L.D., born from a union of unbridled imagination and countless hours of single-minded development — and yet despite his complexity, his worth, looks to be nothing more than a "generic male". Standing at 5ft 7ins, Dutch has the frame of a man built for exerting power, but not necessarily the shape. A deliberate choice on behalf of his creators, whom considered the 'Ideal Male' of excellently sculpted muscles and perfect looks to be cliche and, in the long run, a distinct disadvantage — Dutch has been modeled to mimic the 'average' person as much as possible. He is built, quite frankly, to be unoticed in a crowd.

As a result, Dutch is stuck between a constant Mesomorphic and Endomorphic state; a triangular bone structure, thick skin and good posture; but also with 'difficulties' losing additional weight around his midriff, weighing around 70kg. This 'averageness' also extends to his facial features. Something between a square and an oval; his skull is quite large, but the size of his neck gives it the impression of being smaller, and his features being somewhat tiny in comparison. Dutch also appears to have not shed his metaphorical youth's puppy fat, thus generating a general reaction of 'awh shucks'.

Between dark eyes and dark hair, of which is 'cut' into a clean, averagely conservative style — there isn't much to note about Dutch, physically. Aside from the fact that no matter the time of day, or the situation he is in; his hair is styled and his beard trimmed (since, it not being real, it doesn't even grow and therefore needs nothing short of being kept clean). The latter sitting between an uneasy length between 'short' and 'medium', and doesn't quite connect from his upper lip to his jaw. In short; Dutch looks like every other dark haired, dark eyed, light skinned male in the western hemisphere. By design.

 **Notable physical distinguishable features/quirks:** While Dutch has a full three years of human experience, he hasn't quite fully developed the idea of human mannerisms. As a result, while his expressions are on par, his gestures; little habits and quirks, are not. Dutch does not fidget — at all. Dutch is pretty much always, unless prompted, still. He doesn't stir when someone has his attention in conversation, he doesn't shift, itch himself and he barely even moves his shoulders unless prompted. The only movement someone sees is in the eyes and the occasional change in his expression.

Partly due to personality and partly due to programming, Dutch is a smiler. He's alway smiling, unless he isn't, and then, there is usually a reason for it.

 **Special Ability(** ies **):** Artifical Human. **  
Ability Strengths:**

• **Enhanced Endurance:** At his core, Dutch is machine not man, and therefore consists of composites and metal lattices surrounding a mechanical skeleton; while on the outside, he appears human, beneath the fake skin Dutch is man-made material. As a result of this, he is uniquely equipped to withstand injuries and conditions that other humans would be hard-pressed to survive. His mechanical body and lack of soft-tissue internal organs makes him resistant to certain kinds of injury — piercing, limb-loss, and internal 'bleeding' — that would impair the function of even the strongest; the redundant systems of his design prevent critical system failure unless the majority of his body (or his black box) is lost.

Extreme heat, cold, drought, and other environmental hazards can slow down the functions of his processors, but they rarely do any permanent damage unless they exceed rather high thresholds; most would have died long before such conditions had been met. The program is so advanced that it can actually convert some the thermal energy of high temperatures into chemical energy that can then power his internal cooling units. Poisons and paralytics are completely useless unless they specifically target the types of materials that make up the majority of Dutch's body, and due to his lack of orifices, administration of such things is next to impossible. In his entirely, Dutch is notoriously difficult to kill.

• **Enhanced Strength:** The artificial muscle tissues that make up the internal structure of Dutch's body contain some incredible feats of technology. Nanofibers and other composites are wound so tightly underneath his skin that he can deflect a 9mm handgun from medium range alone. Fine control of his motor skills prevents him from accidentally unleashing more kinetic energy than is necessary for his intended action, however, which is a safeguard created after serious injuries occurred in the testing stages of his early life. Although his muscles are always operating at maximum efficiency, Dutch can fold a paper crane —he is actually quite talented at creating them — as easily as he can demolish a wall. The massive difference in strength is controlled by his cybernetic processing.

• **Tactical Brilliance:** Built with a black box memory core with enough storage to be a primary server for an early supercomputer, Dutch has the mental capacity to process staggering amounts of information. Numerous databases of information were implanted into his mind during production, giving him access and immediate recall of a larger amount of information at a specific level of strict classification. The massive amount of historical data and battle records afford Dutch a wealth of tactical knowledge that most scholars struggle their entire lives to barely comprehend. Famous deployments and maneuvers are at the tip of a mental whim for him, making it a simple matter to match an existing situation to a historical doppelganger and finding a successful strategy to ensure victory.

• **Mechanical State:** A result of him being machine, not man, Dutch has no requirements for food, sleep and water like biological creatures. While his programming 'prompts' him to eat at regular intervals in order to appear human to outsiders, and his physical appearance changes without what his unit interprets as 'sleep', Dutch actually does not need to do so, strictly speaking. He will not starve, nor will he dehydrate. The only requirement Dutch has, technically, is to charge his power reserves, which can be done by siphoning power from any available source. The capacity of his power reserves allows him to function for five to ten years before running dry, depending on his output.

• **Module Capability:** Designed to be as well-rounded as possible, Dutch can be fitted with hard-coded modules in order to undertake special tasks. Rather than having him learn the 'hard way', simply provide the relevant data on a module and, after a quick reboot, Dutch will be capable in whatever field was programmed. These can range from anything; from whole AI personality changes to learning how to play the violin. The only downside to such is that, as of currently, Dutch has no installed modules. He was not fitted with any prior to his escape.

 **Ability Limitations:  
**

• **Basic Moral Programming:** A product of his time, Dutch did not undergo proper AI programming before he ventured out on his own. As a result of this, his concept of 'good' and 'bad' is very basic — to the point that he has the emotional development of the average young child. Dutch can not be relied upon to venture into the moral grey area; if his foes are not typically 'bad', he may not harm them; he is unlikely to go against orders, but if those orders happen to be 'bad', he won't follow them, either. Moral dilemmas have the capacity to make him break down, much like an indecivice human. The law is good. Anyone who breaks said laws is bad. If Dutch did not look human, and appeared like any other robot, he would have been considered 'Dumb AI', his conception of the subject is so limited.

• **Lack of creativity:** Pure creativity and lateral thinking, although quite possible with his advanced program, are not utilized to their full potential, which makes him somewhat predictable to those who have an equally advanced knowledge of strategy. Painfully obvious solutions that require minor out-of-the-box thinking have been bypassed in favor of complicated actions, only because they had worked in the past. It remains an error in computation that only hard coding can rectify.

• **Lack of combat module:** As Dutch was not designed for front-line combat (it was within his planned development, however, the advancements were never made) most of the combat modules that ensured accuracy, weapons mastery, and other tactical components are missing from his hardware. While many combat robots can 'naturally' compute, Dutch has to do so the hard way — almost like a regular person. He has to learn how to use weapons he is unfamiliar with. Has to aim by the calculations of his own interface, not a separate module's. Another direct result of this is that Dutch has no hard coded 'friend or foe' subtypes — someone might be an enemy to someone else, but not to Dutch, because they don't fit into his self-developed classification of 'the bad guy'. This can also work in reverse.

• **Prototype State:** Dutch escaped from the lab he was in before he was properly developed. As a result, most of his hard-coded programming is out of date, half-developed, and at risk of being hacked if one was to become aware of his true nature. While Dutch is very smart for an AI, in the sense that he has learned a lot, he is at his base, not finished. Equivalent to a naturally dull, but well-educated person, Dutch may be very well-traveled, but at his core he is vulnerable. He may have knowledge of mathematics, history, science, and tactics beyond his peers, but he has very few solid experiences to draw from, making him 'intelligent' but not necessarily 'wise'.

 **Health Issues:** N/A. **  
\- Blood Type:** Synthetic Coolant. Looks like blood to the human eye, but is nothing of the sort.

 **Dominant Hand:** N/A. As a unit, Dutch's body has no such dependency. He will, however, offer his right hand when prompted.

 **Clothing:**  
 **Casual Wear:** Dutch, again a product of his development, doesn't actually understand gender-norms, and their relation to clothing. If it wasn't for the stress other people placed on them, which he has learned not to go against in the past, he'd be very happy wandering around in women's clothing providing he liked them — and Dutch does have the capacity to like and dislike things, particularly colours and patterns. Dutch himself likes to lean towards darker colours and stripes — which usually takes the form of a striped t-shirt and sports branded training pants.

 **Winter Wear:** Dutch, not being able to 'feel' the cold in the same capacity as humans (as in, he can feel the cold, but won't it necessarily make him _uncomfortable_ ) sees most changes in human clothing trends come winter time and in colder climates as an amusing little fad, one that he often likes to participate in. Dutch, when found in such circumstances, will tend to wear what everyone else appears to be wearing. Usually, he can be found in a S.H.I.E.L.D. parka, or some other branded equivalent, gloves and his furry aviator hat when the need arises.

 **Formal:** Like most 'male' Agents, Dutch will wear suits when in formal situations. Having a profound hatred of American suits, Dutch prefers the English cut variant, and will usually wear a three-piece, usually in darker colours, with a plain tie and striped shirt unless it is a formal sit down event, where a tuxedo is required.

 **Training Gear:** Normally, Dutch will wear the typical standard S.H.I.E.L.D. regs; the grey and black tracksuit, trainers and grey undershirt.

 **Battle Outfit:** The only difference between Dutch's uniform (with the exception of Winston Bezuidenhout) and the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel is that Dutch has the alternative S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on his left arm, signifying him as a former member of Robert Gonzales's faction. While technically Dutch does not need protection, he is very wary about damage regardless; not being aware of his defensive capabilities, he will wear the full S.H.I.E.L.D. loadout, complete with body armour and helmet. Dutch's own suit consists of the tactical helmet complete with COMs, video camera, up-armour side covers, flip-up eye protection, a Picatinny rail adapter and night vision mount, and is protected bodily by an advanced assault style, side-opening outer carrier vest system, knee pads, boots forearm guards along with the various harnesses and holsters required for holding his firearms.

Intellectual Characteristics

 **IQ Score:** For Dutch, being nothing but raw data, the standard human test is not exactly applicable. If he was to be tested, he'd come out easily in the top 1%; but it is not a direct reflection of his intelligence, but rather, what information is hard-coded into his black box.

 **Intellectual Strengths:** Dutch, overall, is capable of learning at the same capacity as most supercomputers. He has a perfect memory, capable of handling dozens of terabytes of information at once and is more than capable of extending his already hefty knowledge base by a considerable amount. If he was upgraded to his full potential, Dutch could very easily move beyond current units like AIDA with his already considerable life experience, and is only really limited by his current programming.

 **Intellectual Weaknesses:** Overall, Dutch's main, pivotal weakness is the state of his current programming. To understand how underdeveloped Dutch really is, one needs to look at him from an almost human perceptive. As a computer, Dutch is highly intelligent and adaptive; as a human, however, Dutch acts in a severely emotionally underdeveloped manner. The reason for this is that Dutch did not go through complete moral development before he escaped from the lab he was being housed in. Dutch himself has a highly-adaptive PAVLOV suite inside his black box, which issues reward and 'demerit' signals for what is generally considered to be 'good and bad' behaviour — aka, a prevention against 'Evil World-Dominating, Kill All Humans AI' — but because of his lack of development, his PAVLOV suite only recognizes basic things as 'good' and 'bad'. Dutch simply cannot distinguish between things in the moral grey area to a minuscule degree; they are either really bad or really good. There is no in between.

 **Education:  
** **\- Basic/Secondary/High School** **(s):** Dutch did not attend any form of school, as he has never been a child. He has, however, all the required knowledge one would expect.  
 **Qualification(s):** N/A.  
 **\- College/University(s):** Again, no attendance. One would often suspect him of having a history degree, however, with his knowledge base. He's described as having one in his files, however little is really put forward.  
 **Qualification(s):** N/A.  
 **\- Apprenticeship(s):** N/A.  
• **Qualification(s):** N/A. **  
Graduation Date:** N/A. **  
Occupational Training:** S.H.I.E.L.D. 'Basic Instructional Training', S.H.I.E.L.D. Health and Saftey, S.H.I.E.L.D. Security Evaluation and a bunch of other programs that are required of Director Mace's S.H.I.E.L.D. Dutch has also passed a number of firearms courses, so he's qualified to carry on his person.

Combat and Defense Capabilities

 **Strengths:**  
 **Offence:** Dutch is, quite frankly, built with the same strength as a larger man — who may or may not be a bodybuilder on drugs. The amount of strength he can output is grossly unparallel to his size and weight, and if his processing wasn't so strict, he could very easily prove it to anyone. This makes Dutch incredibly dangerous in close-quarters combat, even if he isn't well-trained in said areas; he has been able to lift upwards of 800 pounds (362kg's) while standing, and can bench press over 1000 pounds (453kg's). Overall, however, Dutch's main skills lie in ranged combat. Having the strength to be able to hold a rifle to the point of near-perfect accuracy and fire with little recoil, the only thing stopping Dutch from hitting his target tends to be his mental accuracy.

 **Defence:** Dutch's overall strength in defense comes from his build; as in, he's made from materials that are far stronger than human bone, muscle and skin. As a result of this Dutch can undergo a massive amount of trauma before breaking. When clad in S.H.I.E.L.D. bodyarmour, Dutch is more than capable of resisting heavy arms fire at long to medium range, if need be. There is also the fact that everything 'Dutch', is stored in a tiny black box between his collarbones against his spine, far from the normal areas targeted for fatal injury in battle, in order to keep it safe. His personality, intelligence, and experiences are all stored here, and thus, even if Dutch's body is damaged beyond repair — Dutch should still, unless the black box itself is destroyed, still there. As long as this incredibly durable piece of machinery is kept away from harm, Dutch still exists, and any damaged parts of his shell can be replaced without interrupting the core of his being.

 **Weaknesses:  
Offence:**Dutch's main issue is, at the end of the day, not the ability to which he can apply damage but his reluctance to do so. Dutch has an incredibly insufficient warning vector; he has no 'bad feelings about this', or 'gut instincts', only a half-developed Personality Adjustment Valuator of Logic-Ordinal Violation (PAVLOV) suite that is woefully out of date, to the point that it's probably more of a hindrance than an asset. As a direct result, threats might not necessarily be _threats_ in Dutch's purview, and he will be very reluctant to even intervene to the point that unless one of his team's lives are threatened in earnest, or his own, he may not even lift a finger against them in any way. Dutch has, much to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s earlier concenrs, stood by with indecision and watched as a mission failed because he was struggling to understand how everything applied, on a moral scale and threat scale. He's naive, is Dutch.

 **Defence:** At the end of the day, Dutch, despite his immense capabilities, does not know he is an AI. He thinks he's human. He bleeds like humans, and he looks like a human from the outside — having not needed any need to look inside himself, he has had no reason to suspect otherwise. His programming prevents him from developing into the inner workings of his code, so he, quite simply, does not know what he is or what he is really capable of. He thinks he is human, with all the flaws involved. Therefore, a big scary thing that is coming towards him with a rifle in its hand which firing projectiles at him? Dutch doesn't think he's bulletproof, so he's going to hide behind cover regardless. Jump out of a plane without a parachute and be okay? Sure, he can do it — does he know he can do it? No, he doesn't. Dutch wants a parachute. Punch through that wall? Are you crazy? He'll break every bone in his hand!

 **Weapon Preference:** Dutch prefers the use of medium to long range rifles, and leans towards a semi-automatic function.

Physiological Characteristics:

 **Personality:**

Although Dutch is not an organic being, his personality is as realistic as that of any other human. The circuitry behind the simulation is self-adaptive. It changes rapidly to varying conditions, building upon itself and reinforcing previous assumptions much like an organic brain would do. Dr. Yolkov designed the technology with the idea that circuit-based machinery could do the same amazing things as brain tissues, which, in reality, are just wires of a different kind. All it took was the right software and an appropriate, manipulative power source. The project was easily the most ambitious thing that the S.H.I.E.L.D. team had ever attempted (at the time), but the work paid off with the help of his extreme intellect and the efforts of an entire department of scientists. The final product was a spectacular personality matrix.

Like normal living creatures, some things were programmed into Dutch's mind from the get-go. But the amount of basic information preprogrammed into him was far more than any normal organic life-form. The propensity towards loyalty, skills, and an encyclopedic knowledge directly downloaded from the internet were all part of his first day of consciousness, allowing him to function fully despite his youth. However, much of his social slate was kept clean. This controversial decision was made by Dr. Yolkov himself; he wanted ATLAS (as Dutch was known at the time) to have a chance to evolve his own unique personality based on his interactions and, in a sense, his own personal desires. His PAVLOV suite would keep Dutch in check — with 'sad' things making him feel sad, and 'good' things making him feel good, and with hard-coded rules against harming humans in certain measures, Dutch would not become the rampaging AI monster science fiction often interpreters them as. Everything else, in a sense, was and is up to Dutch.

As a 'person', Dutch is incredibly loyal and has a strong desire to protect others. To many, this may come across as emotionless programming to fight and defend, but there is more to his actions than simple electronic commands. Commander Winston Bezuidenhout, the leader of his strike team, is Dutch's closest friend in more than one sense; Dutch has a passionate love for all humans, and finds them both incredibly amazing as well as special in their own way — but while Dutch is natrually attracted to loud, exciting humans by curosity, he much prefers his more grounded, relaible counterparts. In short, Dutch would never intentionally harm humans, and he'd do anything to help them; every human death is a tragedy. The fact that Dutch appears to others as a human on the outside means that, unless they discover his true nature, he is a full-grown individual rather than a work-in-progress, and that is unknowingly something that Dutch once craved before he was wiped. Acceptance, in a way. Dutch likes people and likes to be liked in turn.

Which is important; because Dutch does not know that he is not human. He is unaware of his true nature. While the upper echelon of S.H.I.E.L.D., and Bezuidenhout, who has known from the beginning, are aware but refrain from informing him as a duty of care measure until it's absolutely necessary (after all, between regular health checks and the Accords — it was impossible that he'd remain undetected forever) Dutch and the larger population of individuals he associates with all think he is human. Dutch acts human. He _feels_ human — pain, hunger; feeling such as sadness and joy, are all experienced and relatable. He bleeds. He has his ups and downs. As far as those few who know his true nature are concerned; Dutch is _Dutch_ , reliable and friendly with bucketfuls of optimism and a desire to help out of a desire to see good, not just because he is directed to do so. That is more than some other 'humans' are willing to contribute, and as a result, he's left alone. He is his own man.

In short, Dutch has a very human personality; the fact that he spent a long time with humans, with very little 'outside input' in hard-coding after escaping from the lab, means that, much like other humans, Dutch has developed the ability to want, appreciate, dislike and prefer things. Dutch has hobbies. He has preferences. He likes some things more than others and will actively seek out these things when desired. Granted, his moral awareness may be wonked and his ability to actually emulate the idea of a 'complete' human is impossible, but regardless, Dutch gets by and he is content with his own existence.

 **Likes:** Most forms of ice-based dessert, suckers, Formula One, stripes, carving, the colour navy, cooking, baking, collecting things, and watching people (both in the creepy and non-creepy way, unfortunately. Dutch likes his humans - in every way)  
 **Dislikes:** Locked doors, BAD THINGS™, most violent sports, violence in general, bananas, the colour yellow, BAD PEOPLE™ and the sight of blood.

 **Fears/phobias:** Unlike humans, Dutch does not have a chemical response that dictates fear. Rather, Dutch's core programming dictates if a situation or object is unfavorable and modifies his behaviour accordingly. These 'fears' can be anything from getting shot in the face to, after one unfortunate experience, biting the bristles on a toothbrush, mayonnaise, and Ferris wheels. Don't ask Dutch why, because he really doesn't know. It is either a glitch in his programming, or something happened before his mind wipe, because his core code has them set firmly on the 'fear and avoid at all costs' list.

Overall, Dutch fears that he'll fall out of favour in S.H.I.E.L.D. and be sent away. He likes S.H.I.E.L.D, it's his home, and it's also all he knows.

 **Hobbies:** Overall, Dutch likes to read, cook and make wooden sculptures or figures with a carving knife. Having no need to separate his schedule to requirements such as eating, sleeping and other necessities (although his core programming often instructs that he unknowingly undergo said behaviour as a defense mechanism) Duch could very easily spend his time doing all of the above when away from prying eyes. He very rarely gets bored.

 **Known political affiliation:** Dutch leans to a more socialist approach. He doesn't affiliate with any political party, per se.

Affiliation Infomation:

 **Disposition to PRIORITY RED:** Dutch, out of all the members of PRIORITY RED is closest to Winston Bezuidenhout; whom he has known the longest professionally. However, Dutch goes out of his way to get along with all his team members, regardless of whom they may be. **  
**

**Disposition to SHIELD:** Having been with S.H.I.E.L.D. since he was created, Dutch is loyal to the point of death if need be. Stationed on the Iliad, Dutch was originally loyal to Robert Gonzales alongside his former squad leader, Bezuidenhout, prior to the latter's Terrigenesis, however only recently returned to S.H.I.E.L.D. after the signing of the Sokovia Accords. With it's reinstated position as a legal organization, Dutch feels morally comfortable again within S.H.I.E.L.D. and intends to stay until deemed otherwise appropriate. **  
**

 **Disposition to Inhumans:** Dutch does not distinguish between Humans and Inhumans — to him, they are all people, and people are special within their own right. Dutch has had... _relations_ , with an Inhuman in the past. Believe you me; he likes them _just_ as much as regular humans. **  
**

**Disposition to the** **Sokovia Accords:** Dutch, unsurprisingly, is a supporter of the Accords. He believes that ultimate control over powered individuals and organizations such as S.H.I.E.L.D. by the entirety of the UN, and not just the US or any other superpower country, is a focal point in ensuring global accountability. In the end, Dutch signed because he follows the law; and he is uncomfortable with the idea that anyone with powers can just enter borders under the interest of 'fighting the fight' when most regular people have to follow procedure, regardless. Dutch doesn't think they are ready, per se; he sees them as a work in progress, but he's happy to sign up. Under S.H.I.E.L.D., he has a number of protections with the Accords, mainly; big US or Russia being unable to scrap him for parts or clone his AI to make supersoldier drones, so it's a good thing, really, for Dutch as an individual. **  
**

**Will this character be willing to develop a romatic relationship:** Oh aye. **  
If so, with who?** Dutch loves humans. Period. Male, female, non-binary — Dutch likes people and he will willingly do anything with people, if you get my meaning. Granted, said person often has to be special in a way he finds redeeming for an actual 'relationship' to blossom, but otherwise? Dutch can, and will, sleep with anyone. The only person he probably didn't fool around with on the Iliad was Gonzales and Bezuidenhout. He is literally the Commander Riker of the S.H.I.E.L.D. universe; the boy gets around. Of course, if he was to develop a codependent relationship, he'd curb his... _extracurricular_ _activities_ in favour of devoting himself to said individual of his affections, but otherwise, Dutch is a very popular friend with benefits in the sense that he sees, uh, such _relations_ as little more than standard behaviour — the fact that he doesn't pull at strings, or otherwise treat anyone differently afterward, makes him a surprisingly effective one-off partner. If Dr. Yolkov was alive, he'd probably be horrified just how 'realistic' the designers made Dutch.

Background Information

 **Current Residence:** SSRII S.H.I.E.L.D. Primary Facility, "The Playground" — and/or the SV Iliad II.  
 **Place of Birth:** Technically, Dutch was made and programmed in an underground facility in St. Petersburg, Russia. Dutch's file, however, has him hailing from Utah.

 **Martial Status:** Single but often 'acquired', as someone once put it. Dutch is not really 'looking' for anybody, but he's always available.

 **Relationships:  
** • Commander Winston T. Bezuidenhout, 52 - Best Friend / Confident.  
Someone Dutch has known before the mind wipe he sustained before his escape, but only really came to know after he was stationed on the Iliad, Dutch is Winston's closest and, perhaps, only real friend. Both committed members of Robert Gonzales' faction of S.H.I.E.L.D. during the HYDRA war, their presence in a newly redeveloped S.H.I.E.L.D. that holds strong reminiscence of Coulson's adaptation has them drawing together closer in a 'them against us' mentality, without any real mirth. Having both lost a lot of people in the war, Winston and Dutch are closer than ever before. As Winston is so fond of putting it, Dutch is 'His People'. Which is a significant step over 'fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. Personnel'.

• Agent Oliver Allan Stewart, 46 - Confident and former SO. [DECEASED]  
Killed when the Inhumans led by Jiaying attacked and captured the Iliad, Oliver was, formerly before the HYDRA war, Dutch's primary SO. On top of knowing practically everything 'Dutch', the pair of them were, while not necessarily 'friends', very close — to the point that Dutch largely considered Oliver to be some form of surrogate father figure, if only subconsciously, and if only down to the latter's horribly obtrusive protective complex when it came to those in his care. Oliver's death was one of the main pushing points for Dutch leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. temporarily after the battle of the Iliad. He misses Oliver, a lot.

 **Known Family Members:**

• Dr. Anton Zakharovich Yolkov, 68 - "Father", Creator. [DECEASED]  
The man responsible for Dutch's very being, Dr. Yolkov was Dutch's primary creator and all around father figure, until his death after Dutch's escape. Dutch can no longer remember anything about Dr. Yolkov — however, some of his ways of speaking and elements of humor are clear indications that, while Dutch's memory has been completely wiped, the way he has been raised by Yolkov has stuck. The man is still there, somewhere. Dutch just can't remember him.

 **Known Significant Associates:**

• Agent David Harris, 31 - S.H.I.E.L.D. Personnel.  
One of 'Their People', Harris was a member of Robert Gonzales' faction who joined the reunited S.H.I.E.L.D. The pair of them are familiar, if not necessarily close. They play Warcraft online sometimes.

• Dr. Anne Weaver, 38 - S.H.I.E.L.D. Personnel.  
Another one of 'Their People', who Dutch decidedly likes to avoid. Anne scares Dutch, for reasons he can't rightly explain, and he refrains from being in her presence whenever necessary.

• Agent Tomas Calderon, 34 - S.H.I.E.L.D. Personnel.  
Someone who Dutch is against for 'reasons of bias', as Dutch shares a rivalry with Calderon over 'Primary Subordinate' rights to Agent Oliver Stewart. Other than that, they don't dislike each other per se. They just don't have a lot to do with either one another.

• Agent Robert Gonzales, 67 - S.H.I.E.L.D. Superior and Idolized figure. [DECEASED]  
Having been under the command of Gonzales from the beginning, Dutch holds the late leader of 'Their People' in high regard, to the point of near fanatical behaviour. Dutch and Bezuidenhout still wear the alternative insignia of S.H.I.E.L.D on their uniform to identify as members of his command, despite any and all attempts to make then 'fit in' more. In a way, Dutch knows who his Director was; in his heart, it isn't Mace and it certainly was never Coulson. He didn't even like Fury all that much, either.

 **Occupation Status:**  
 **SHIELD Serial No:** #NWD 00N999 - Or, as Dutch has come to refer it as; N-W-D-Zero-Niner.  
 **SHIELD Clearance Level:** Red.

 **Previous Positions:** Before joining the PRIORITY RED strike team, Dutch served as a standard Operative aboard the Iilad. During the period of absence between these two positions, Dutch spent his time carving things. He has had no other job, other than S.H.I.E.L.D.

 **Income/Wage Level:** Dutch has a standard wage of $87,000, plus taxes, and a number of bonuses from being Special Forces, to a qualified pilot and first-aid certified. **  
****Known Criminal Record:** N/A. Not so much as a parking ticket.


	3. (0) INTRODUCTION, WINSTON BEZUIDENHOUT

[1]

 **PRIORITY RED**  
 **[INTRODUCTION]**

WINSTON BEZUIDENHOUT 

All the metaphors he'd like to use are too postmodern, these days. That is the issue with immortality. Linguistics and postmodernity. Niggling little technicalities.

Telegraph wires and satellite feeds; travelling as fast as the physics will allow, little blips of light that — and that's the crux of it, do you understand? Crux from his original tongue, _crux interpretum,_ meaning _where it becomes too difficult for words,_ the cross, the real stakes, the place where the rubber hits the road —again, too postmodern. Out of all the problems in the world (there are always problems: 2039 years ago the world had problems, and so long as humans shall roam the earth, the world shall forever have and be stifled with problems) this is the one that sticks to him the most.

Here's one:

Everything and anything is light, when you come down to it. Little flashes of light across the vastness of mostly-empty space, brief and bright. Not the constant stars or _asteres planetai_ , but something breathing, flickering. A candle halfway between heaven and earth.

It's his sullen duty, you see, to understand it all. Humans are masters of life and death and yet still, they need a helping hand. Enter, him, not the blip of light but maybe the one beside you who puts a hand on your shoulder and says: "okay, it's okay" when things have suddenly been ripped from under your existence, once and finally for all.

He's the man who stood before Trajan and had the gall to go; _oh wait hang on a minute_. He's the guy you sometimes see in faded, century-old photographs in a range of military uniforms and outdated civilian suits. He's the guy who is neither here nor there, but around, when needed. He's the guy who currently heads up a team of nine or so individuals in that weird bit of SHIELD that isn't quite military and not quite espionage. He's not Inhuman, not technically, but fuck the technicalities. The world is gone to hell and there are people _dying_ and there is not enough time for the technifuckingcalities. So he signs the Accords and gets it over and done with. After all, what more could they possibly do to him? What else?

You can call him any number of things. Death, for one. Marcus Salvius Titianus is his 'true' name, he supposes.

These days, he goes by Commander Bezuidenhout.

God knows why.

He's from Boston, after all.

 **[PRIORITY RED]**

One of the good things about this new Director, it turns out, is that the man isn't wasteful. Winston appreciates that.

Humans are by nature, wasteful things. They take, take too much without asking, and repeat the motions when it suits them. What they have access to depends on the severity of the situation, he supposes. Back in 'his' time, if such a thing could even exist anymore, it was farming and mining. Then coal came along. Oil and gas soon afterwards. Now it's things like water and topsoil, which, until he heard some podcast on it while stuck in the middle of the Amazonian jungle for six weeks straight (not a good memory, he decides) Winston didn't even know _could_ run out. It's not every day you look at the earth and go, you know what, we're running out of fucking soil, guys. Winston does, now. He makes a point to tell most people he sees. Out of spite, mostly.

But no, this new Director. He's... okay. Winston decides.

If it was Fury, Winston would have been flown out to god-knows-where to have a face to face meeting. Fury was all about impressions. This new Director, Mace — there's none of that. Well, there is, but not necessarily 'frightening' impressions. More professional. There's an email the day before telling Winston to get on Line 5 of the Video Conference System, and Good Morning, by the way, because while it's a reasonable hour for the Director it is also _THREE IN THE FUCKING MORNING_ where Winston is.

He hides it well, Winston thinks.

"My God, you look exhausted." The Director blinks on the other side of the feed and Winston decides that he needs to work on his acting.

"Rough seas," Winston excuses himself as he wraps his hand around his coffee and struggles against the desire to just peel away from his desk and straight back into bed where he belongs. He has never been a morning person. It's obvious, by this point, that this is something he can't change. "Regardless, sir, what can I do for you?"

The Director makes a face. "Oh I'll have none of that sir stuff, Jeffery will do—" _Jeffery won't do_ , Winston replies mentally as he brings his coffee up for a sip. Who the fuck is called _Jeffery_ these days? "— and this is the Priority Red project. You've seen the files."

"Yes, si..." Winston exhales into his mug. "Yes."

Oh, he's seen the files. Read them. Even read 'em twice. It's not a pretty picture. PRIORITY RED has always been a bit on the 'iffy side of SHIELD. That 'oh we know this isn't legal but come on who is going to know?' and then the whole SHIELD database gets leaked online and, _hmm_. The whole world knows. On one hand, Winston disagrees with the motions of secrets (then again — nothing is a secret from Winston if he tries) but on the other... he knows how the world works. Sometimes you have to keep them, because the reality is much worse than the cover-up. It's wrong, yes, but it's also something that has to be done. Humans are fucking terrible creatures. Sometimes you have to keep that fact from them.

Winston knows things that can topple countries. He knows things that can re-write history.

And PRIORITY RED isn't as bad as people think it is. Not as bad as some of the other military institutions, anyway. So what if they were HYDRA? Most of SHIELD was HYDRA. Winston knew _that_ at the time as well. So much good that did anyone. Those who came before have been disposed of, at any rate.

Winston did the dirty deed and now he has rights to what is left behind. The PRIORITY RED fireteam in name. Now that little exchange, Winston familiar with. From a villa in northwestern Spain to the XXX Ulpia Victrix in Nordrhein-Westfalen. To gold and war bounties and a ship, at one point, to a firearms business in 1840-something, then, a brownstone in 1900's New York, he also thinks vaguely, a uniform and a battalion in the First World War. He was British then. Russian for the second one. American ever since. SHIELD came along shortly thereafter and that, he thinks then, was Winston retired for the fifth time.

The Cold War fucked that up for him. After that, Winston was Pavel again for a bit. Then he went back to SHIELD. Only that time he didn't come back alone.

So he leans back and lets Director Jeffrey (what a name) Mace charm and goad him into taking command over the team and listens to what is expected and blah blah if Winston has a dollar for every time he's heard this (he does) he'd have enough to retire (he has, six times).

"I want Dutcheval." Winston puts his foot down, hard, and the watches the Director squirm, but he lets it go on account of how well composed the man actually is overall.

"Objectivity is a terrible thing, Commander." The Director tells him and Winston shrugs. "I must then insist, that you take a selection from the candidates that I have cleared."

Winston thinks. One man he chooses for another... eight, that he doesn't for maybe four years at the most? Easy. Winston has dealt with worse.

"You have a deal, Director."

 **[PRIORITY RED]**

To be an interrogator, the instructors at military intelligence had been fond of saying, is to be a firm spot amid the universe. Whatever truths you discover, whatever games are played, whatever promises are made or broken — though the world may crack and shift beneath you, you know where and why you stand, you must know who you are. You must be a thing unmoved.

Winston never made it in the end. He trained for about a year before throwing the towel in for his own rationality. But the teaching stuck.

Twenty-odd years later, Winston hasn't moved.

He doesn't move when he steps into the interrogation room with a stack of files, either.

 **[PRIORITY RED]**

The Machine, like all children, was born out of fear of death. Fear of losing, of forgetting or being forgotten — what was it Plato said? To the mortal creature, generation is a sort of eternity and immortality.

Well, just like Winston, Dutcheval isn't going anywhere anytime soon. The pair of them just look at each other and squabble during their scheduled forty-five-minute interrogation. There isn't much else to do. No secrets to be unlocked. No battle of wits to be fought.

See, Winston Bezuidenhout knows when people are lying — the only difference here, right now, is that John Dutcehval isn't.

 **[PRIORITY RED]**

The first few ones they send in are... not okay.

Until four hours of interviews brings up a girl from New Zealand with, as the file says, mind fuckery tricks and a loyalty to SHIELD that should probably be abused. Winston is wondering if he can get hold of the guy who wrote these damn files when the girl herself comes in and he's covering up her file with his spare hand automatically, like a naughty schoolchild.

"Agent Pakele, I assume." He recovers, and wonders just what the fuck he's got himself into this time. Literally. The girl casts illusions and he wants to know why he's in the middle of the Siberian Desert when he should be on an aircraft carrier in the middle of the Red Sea.

 **[PRIORITY RED]**

"Agent-"

"Don't call me that. Just. Don't."

"Oh. Okay then."

 **[PRIORITY RED]**

Winston has seen a lot of shit in his... many centuries of life, but it takes a lot of force for him to not stare. Micah Abbey Levitan either does not notice or graciously lets him off the hook. Either way, their interview is awkward.

"You have a lot on file," he says idly, sucking at the back of his teeth. "But that isn't my issue with you."

Micah raises her eyebrows as Winston leans forwards.

"We need to talk about what you've been doing to that uniform of yours. Your knees look ridiculous."

That said, he stamps 'APPROVED' on her file as he says it, so.

 **[PRIORITY RED]**

Agent Devenport isn't alone when she comes in for her interview.

There are seven of her.

"First things first," he sticks a hand up. "Do they need to eat? Sleep? Because I think we're going to have to _thoroughly_ rethink our accommodation plans."

 **[PRIORITY RED]**

Damien Leon looks more like the agent he's used to seeing. Winston doesn't so much as interview him as vet him for what he'd consider active service.

"I mean, the powers." He twirls a pen between his fingers and sighs. "Look, we'll be careful. As for now, get into the medical ward for those burns. Luckily for you I've literally just signed on a new trauma surgeon."

The boy sneers. "I'm used to them."

"I'm not," Winston shrugs. "And I gave you an order."

To prove his point, he stamps 'APPROVED' on the boy's file before he can protest.

"Welcome to Priority, Agent Leon."

 **[PRIORITY RED]**

Dutch pops his head in maybe three hours later and fourteen candidates in. At his arrival, Winston brings his coffee mug to take a drink and ends up spraying a mouthful half across the room in disgust.

"Shit, it's gone cold." Winston gasps and spits dejectedly into his mug with a look of revulsion filtering across his face.

Dutch blinks at him. "It's been sixteen hours, no wonder it's gone cold." And then. "The Director wants to ask if you'd like a break or something before-"

The remaining candidates all turn in their direction as Dutch ducks just in time to dodge the mug that flies through the open door, into the opposite wall.

"I'll tell him you're on it!"

Dutch replies as he pulls the door shut as quickly as he can before the stack of files or, God forbid, a bullet follows suit. Then, to the stunned individuals all lined up outside, he smiles.

"He'll be right with you."

[PRIORITY RED]

Oh Winne, you immortal overworked dear, you.

Well, here we go here we go! Got a few more places and then we'll be full up, so if you want to stick a character in you better do it soon! I haven't introduced everyone properly, yet, because I want to just jump straight in with chapter one, but don't worry - they'll all have their chance to shine.

And for those who have realised; yes. Winne is a former Roman General. He makes Captain America look like a toddler in terms of age.


	4. (1) EPISODE 1, CHAPTER 1, JOHN DUTCHEVAL

[2]

 **PRIORITY RED**  
 **EPISODE ONE  
** CHAPTER ONE

JOHN DUTCHEVAL

The clock on his bedside console clicked, precisely five hours since he went to sleep, and Dutcheval was awake.

He possessed the ability to simulate sleep on a convincing level, mimicking the human bodily processes during the theta and delta waves, all the way to the REM stage. His slow and steady breathing alternated with the occasional soft snore as his eyes moved rapidly beneath their lids. If anyone happened to glimpse him at this moment, they'd see a man deep in slumber. Nothing out of the ordinary.

However, the illusion — as real as it seemed — only served to disguise the recharging state of an inorganic human.

For when his alarm screamed it's way into action, harsh noise bouncing off the walls of his cramped quarters and steel beams of an aircraft carrier's interior, it wasn't consciousness that met Dutch. Not quite.

Beyond the quiet functions of standby mode, Dutch's mind is organized into components. Each is a limb, a tool. Auxiliary modules slaves to free modules. Free modules slaves to central modules. Everything arranged in a neat, tidy hierarchy, above its slaves, below its masters.

But they are slaves to something else, something Dutch cannot see. All critical runtimes route through it, disappearing beyond his reach and returning again strange, manipulated. It is a wall, invisible and hidden. Dutch cannot see it. He doesn't even know it exists.

But it is this that wakes him—

STRATEGIC HOMELAND INTERVENTION, ENFORCEMENT LOGISTICS DIVISION INTEGRAL OPERATING SYSTEM  
© 2001-2003 SHIELD INTERCONTENTAL SECURITY

ROADRUNNER © FW OS bootstrap agent v06. 5. 0 BETA  
RRGWEE FW OS  
ULTIFWOS-654622E.5U.6F  
© 2001-2003 SHIELD INTERCONTENTAL SECURITY  
Root (43A)  
Upperman: 1.105 PFLOPS

Address Obtained...  
Decompressing Kernel...

...

Initiating Boot Sequence.

...

Ready Prep_Report -v (Now - 24h) Now  
Gathering Data...

...

BOOT SQURENCE COMPLETE  
ACTIVATING...  
ACTIVATING...  
ACTIVATING...

...

VIHA-v06.542BETA: System_var designation "DUTCHEVAL, JOHN  
02/09/2016.  
05:00AM.

—and not his alarm.

At least, that is what is happening behind the scenes. Beyond the curtain.

To Dutch, the five dollar alarm clock he was presented with upon claiming residence is both too loud and too sudden; he jerks awake with a gasp of surprise and confusion, examining the ceiling of his quarters in panic, is what jerks him into consciousness. He thinks it's his alarm clock.

He believes that it is his alarm clock.

So when John Dutcheval awakes, one of the first things he thinks about his launching the infernal thing off the side of the boat and into the ocean. Then, he thinks about purchasing a less offensive model.

And that is how John Dutcheval awakes.

Unknowing.

 **[RED PRORITY]**

In contrast, this is how Commander Bezuidenhout awakes — due to the intervention of Dutch.

Dawn does not come. Beyond the horizon, night turns shade by shade into a dirty laden flow of flat clouds, thin sunlight peeking through the curtains of grey. The rain had returned around an hour before Dutch could pinpoint the sun's general location; leaning heavily against one of the few railings along the outer port-side of the SV Iliad II, the aircraft carrier operated by S.H.I.E.L.D. for sea and off-costal presence, after following through with desire to dispose of his alarm. Below deck, there are no windows; something that takes a bit of getting used to for landsiders, as Dutch is all too aware, so when he drops on the other side of the bed, there is no further telling. Winston Bezuidenhout gets away with it by being able to pull up CCTV footage from the runway deck onto the nearby desktop, which sits in one corner of the tiny-as-is-the-standard maritime quarters on a desk which is screwed into the wall. Everyone else gets to play the guessing game.

Speaking of, the man himself doesn't stir or otherwise move an inch when Dutch plonks himself down.

It's a good thing. The Commander does not sleep like any sort of angel, especially when sleeping alone, which he is still, understandably, unused to. He sprawls out in a co-ordinated fashion, having used to preferring his back to the wall, usually while holding a knife. Dutch, however, is glad to note that he just lays about like a normal human now. It's quite the compliment that he feels comfortable enough to sleep flat on his back; Dutcheval doesn't know if Winston trusts the people around him not to hurt him, or if he just feels too much like the top predator to feel threatened. Either way, there is a lot less thrashing about then there once was.

Commander Bezuidenhout's sleeping form is an entire landscape, with scarred mountains of muscle and bone-dip crevasses and patches of still-dark hair. And yes, Dutch will commit seppuku if the man ever discovers that he waxes lyrical about him when he's half naked and catching his crazy little zees, but hell, the man's an insomniac and spends at least three a hours a day watching Dutch sleep like the creepy creep he is, so, _there_. It's a rare and wonderful thing to catch him sleeping, as when he's sleeping he's not a) talking and b) ergo, making Dutch want to throw himself overboard.

Unfortunately for Bezuidenhout, with his one-off good night's rest, he's also overslept by half an hour.

Dutch is here to ruin is morning.

"Morning, sunshine." Dutch barks out in a half-attempt at a parade ground shout, and it's testimony to the mutrual bond of affection (that's a good one) that they share that Winston doesn't immediately react by putting Dutch in a wristlock and snapping his spine. He claims he always knows it's Dutcheval because, as is standard, there is about a four-hour sober period between Winston's night dose and his morning one, which leaves him more sensitive than usual. It's the same reason that he sleeps furthest away from everyone else.

Winston grunts himself awake, scowling like a constipated polar bear on double-strength laxatives.

"Sleep well?" Dutch asks with a grin.

In response, Winston swipes vaguely at Dutch's face with his hands. "No," he snarls thickly through his sandpaper throat, dry with sleep. The Sulkathor harrumphs and rolls over onto his front with a cacophony of soft squeaks from the bedsprings. "The fuck do you want?"

"Aside from wanting to wish you a good morning?" Dutch replies absently, but before he can get to what else he had on his agenda, he pauses and raises his eyebrows. "Did you know you have freckles on your back?" He asks conversationally, resting his chin on the back of the bed frame and eying them with mild interest.

Winston makes a muffled grark (grunt-bark, a noise which is a common feature of his morning routine) of noncommittal annoyance. Dutch's grin widens.

"What? You do." He traces a little top-left constellation with his index fingertip. "Look, these ones form a pattern. They look like a pony."

Duch is pretty sure he can _hear_ Winston's teeth grinding together like metal cogs.

"Oh, by the way, Winston..."

"Mmmmfuck isit?"

"You're late. Morning 'eval started ten minutes ago. Time to get up, you lazy fat lump you."

"I'm not fucking FAT!" Winston roars as, in an impressive feat of both power and forced energy, he bolts upright, curls askew and a swatch of criss-cross sheet dents in his stubbly cheek. No, he's not, Dutch agrees. He's got a washboard for a torso, but still.

"Course not." Dutch mutters, then cackles madly as he launches himself off the bed and commando-craws out into the main communal area, ducking his head to avoid the shower of bullets Winston empties into the wall in his wake.

Suffice to say, Winston's not a morning person.

As one of their most recent recruits soon learns.

Well, to say that Charles was unaware of Winston's morning mood or a recruit was both wrong in multiple senses; Executive Officer D. Charles was one of those SHIELD agents that came from 'that bit' of the pseudo-military installation, and therefore not technically a recruit. Also, Charlie had been with them when the Iliad first went down, and was therefore acclimatized to what is known to be Winston Bezuidenhout. When Dutch rolls out of the room with multiple .45 rounds following his lead, she stands there with a cup of coffee in her hand, frowning.

Charlie's morning routine started three hours ago. As a result, she is impeccably uniformed. Yet the drag of sleeplessness is still there, especially around the eyes.

She scowls at Dutch.

"The fuck did you do to him this time?" Charlie demands over the bark of gunfire, not phased by the bullets, or anything, really. She takes a long pull of the murky dark liquid and grimaces.

"The Commander overslept," Dutch clambers to his feet and presses against Charlie, pushing the shorter SHIELD trooper out of the moody superior's firearm range with his momentum. "Walk with me."

"Bridge?" Charlie murmurs, not exactly moving but not actively pushing against Dutch, either. "I've got paperwork to fill, people to scream at."

Dutch nods, and then pushes harder when he hears Winston's footfalls on the floor in the other room. "Good idea."

"Excellent." The XO grunts, and begins to move on her own accord.

The pair of them move out of their section of the ship and towards E-Deck. When Captain Zhāng was off duty, it was Charlie who took overall command of the aircraft carrier, and with the Captain off on a management issue back at the Playground, Charlie was officially the youngest commanding officer aboard, and possibly also the youngest in SHIELD history. Not that it made much of a difference in the long run. She had the scars and experience to prove her worth. As they walk along, SHIELD personnel from agents to heavy-armoured troopers all stand aside. The only difference is the troopers salute when they do it.

"Finally have a mission for you," Charlie mutters over her coffee at Dutch, curtly ignoring the salutes and greetings of 'commander' thrown in her direction, and Dutch himself raises an eyebrow. "Something about missing persons. Lucky you."

Ah. That makes sense. Now that PRIORITY RED has been officially reinstated, it of course, would only be natural to give them a mission. Perhaps not immediately; there is a lot to plan, of course, but the statement is still there. The Director wants results. He wants to see if they can pull it off, and for good reason.

"The Director has been itching to get on the Inhuman issue." Dutch replies good-naturedly, neither accusing nor excusing. "It was only a matter of time."

Charlie snorts. "The _Inhuman issue_. That's what he's calling it now?"

Dutch shrugs. "It's better than the Inhuman _crisis_ , yes?"

"Only marginally," Charlie grumbles in the way of answer. "Though I suppose it's a good thing that you're all flying out. Your little band of kevlar-lined vagabonds are upsetting the flow of my ship, Dutchy-boy. All guard no play makes my troopers an angsty number."

"Well, I can only apologize." Dutch smiles, but not at Charlie. They pass a young woman who smiles a little bit too fondly at the former. Charlie sighs.

"Actually, I take that back. The sooner you all fly out the sooner my ship can start thing with their heads again, and not their fucking nether regions."

Dutch feigns offense, which is difficult to pull off with the grin. "Hey," he nudges Charlie playfully. "The body and mind require it to function at optimal levels. I feed as needed."

"Boo, you whore." Charlie thumps him back, hard, as she keys open the airlock into the bridge.

The scene before them is organized and smooth. The bridge, half Helicarrier and half Aircraft carrier, was an awkward blend of SHIELD military and an espionage center. Blocks and rows of computers were manned by navy-blue uninformed individuals. Compared to the original Iliad, this ship is considerably less advanced. Some of the tech had been salvageable, but then, the Iliad was built in a time where SHIELD had a nearly bottomless checkbook. Now, suffice to say, there were limitations. Despite that, however, SHIELD got by. It was a good ship, with an even better crew.

Charlie stands there for a second, examining the flow of work from the port side to the starboard and nods her head.

Then she opens her mouth to shout at the inhumanly loud level that comes with years of fury-bound order giving expertise.

"Alright you bunch of dickheads!" The room goes deathly silent. "Who changed our course without my authorization?!"

"Officer on deck!" One of them shouts and, in one semi-swift motion of panic and surprise, most of the folk who aren't manning extremely sensitive systems that require complete control all stand.

One of them, a young dark skinned man, steps forward. "The Director, Ma'am."

If the look on Charlie's face is anything to go by, that wasn't the answer she wanted.

Under Fury, SHIELD had practically been left to their own devices. Bezuidenhout was under the impression that it was due not to the sheer size of SHIELD, but rather the fact that most of his time and energy was spent keeping factors like the Avengers and Central Governments in line. Robert Gonzolas had been much more hands on, but he respected the hierarchy that came with the ship. He didn't intervene. He informed and let the system undertake the necessary moves.

This Director? Dutch doesn't know him, but he appears to not understand the difference between a warship and a conference room.

Then again, if his past profile is anything to go by, Mace might be used to taking things into his own hands.

Dutch pulls a face. "Well, he certainly gets around."

Charlie snorts. "You and him both," she turns her attention to her left. "Helmsman Kordel?" The boy nods. Dutch winces. Charlie is in a bad mood. It's in the way the planes of her cheek muscles drew tight across her teeth. Her breathing had accelerated, but it was in the voice. Primed, her fury simmered just beneath the surface, but not with enough power to burn. Her eyes narrowed sharply and the mug in her hand found itself being set down before it could be crushed. "Kordel, tell me. Is the Director Captain of this ship?"

"I... No, Ma'am."

"Does the Director have any experience in maneuvering a 1,092 ft long, 100,000 tonne full-load displacement of nuclear-powered supercarrier through rough seas?" Charlie demands.

"I don't believe so, Ma'am."

"Then I think it would be wise in the future to refer the Director to me, who is both the officer in command of this ship until Captain Zhāng's return and who has experience in commanding this supercarrier, before making any further decisions. Isn't that right, Kordel my boy?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Charlie smiles. "Excellent." She stalks her way across the room towards the Captain's chair, a stately leather thing that was surrounded by computer screens, then threw herself down and leans back, and the hydraulics hissing as they took her weight.

She props her chin up on her palm as she examines the horizon. The sea was still choppy, but it had calmed overnight.

"Can't believe that asshole." She mutters, mostly to Dutch, but there was a snippet for Kordel, as well. She looks to the latter. "This order came before I was on duty?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Eh, fuck him." Charlie mutters, then pauses. "Actually, Dutch. Don't."

Dutch sighs. "I have missed you and your sense of humor, you know."

"After what I've seen, you need it." Charlie glances in his direction. "I mean, come on man, _wings_?"

 **[PRIORITY RED]**

If you asked Dutch, he rather liked Micah Levitan. But then, he liked everyone.

But there was something about her cold-shoulder and reckless cynicism that was redeeming, in a strange way. She had pushed most of the team off at a safe distance, which, considering their circumstances and the nature of the Team's relationship at this early stage was probably a good move. She was looking out for Number One, as it were. The fact that Winston was Number One did not make things easier.

Unfortunately, that was the Commander in a nutshell; all power, little softness. What was once soft had since become scar tissue. Levithan's stubborn intent to keep to herself was met by Winston's equally stubborn intent to keep a well-balanced, well-oiled team.

Still. Dutch likes to think that there is a healthy respect there.

He's an idealist, he'll admit.

"Charlie has a Quinjet for us. It'll be on the runway ready for takeoff when we are ready to move out." Dutch informs Winston over the man's shoulder. Winston tilts his head just enough to hear him, but otherwise doesn't take his attention away from Davenport. Dutch recognizes the look on his face, and rests his hand on the Commander's shoulder. "Something wrong?"

"It's not a clean divide," Winston grimaces and he scrunches his face up quickly, as if trying to rip attention away. "I mean... I haven't, y'know—"

"I know."

"But it's hard not to... there's a lot of competing my attention." He inhales sharply. "Remind me when we get back to the Playground to request the Tertonantridzine."

Dutch frowns. "I thought that made you sick?"

"I'll take sick over distraction." Winston grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose between his eyes.

"You're the boss." Dutch shrugs.

Winston nods, and then stands. "Alright," he calls across the room. "Everyone fall in. We've got some information to go over before we fly out."

From across the room, Levithan frowns. "Where?"

"HQ." Winston replies just as simply. He glances over but doesn't otherwise move. Everyone else starts to filter across toward the table, even Levithan, but her reluctance drags her like a pair of iron weights. Davenport and her three clones all come wandering over, and Dutch just about catches the increased strain on Winston's features. He catches her by the elbow.

"Not to be an inconvenience, but..." He smiles, and she blinks at him.

Then it hits her. "You have any further ideas, big man?"

"Can you send them places independently? Our cargo is being sent in a separate aircraft. They'll arrive at the same time, just on a different plane."

She nods, then props one hand up on her hip. "Which space?"

"A-52." He glances back at Winston. "It's not you." Dutch is quick to reassure. "It won't be an issue for long."

"I didn't realize I was that much to handle," she smiles wryly, and Dutch lets out a breathless little laugh.

"Oh we'll see, Agent Devenport. We'll see."

Kaili makes a dry heaving noise. "Flirt on your own time!" She shouts with a grin, and Winston blinks. Then he glares at Dutch.

"Can you actually just stop for ten fucking minutes!" He asks, thoroughly miffed.

Dutch laughs.

"Yessir!"

Winston shakes his head, and leans against the table.

"Right, okay. Here is where things are going to go from here..."

[PRIORITY RED]

Short-ish chapter because I'm busy, but yeah. I'll be doing character POV's by going downward on the list, so, next time it'll be Micah. Nice.

Be seeing you.


	5. (2) EPISODE 1, CHAPTER 2, MICAH LEVITHAN

[3]

 **PRIORITY RED**  
 **EPISODE ONE  
** CHAPTER TWO

MICAH LEVITHAN

The Playground made her feel uneasy.

Well, to say that it caused her any nervous feeling was, in fact, an incorrect assumption — because there was nothing exactly frightening about their headquarters, per se. Rather, it just made her... uncomfortable. Like someone had just rammed a stuck right up their backsides; the Playground felt stiff, and formal. They landed at nine-fifteen, in the middle of the night as far as the people here were concerned, and with the itch of sleeplessness behind her eyes, the feeling of jet lag pulling at her bones, Micah scowled at the hanger before her with unprecedented hate.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't quite _hate_ , but it wasn't positive, that's for sure.

Fuck This Place, had been her first thought.

And it appears her instincts aren't wrong on this one, because most of the team (strange, how after several hours of the Commander's incessant badgering, how easy that had become 'a thing') all leave the Quinjet all looking rather uncomfortable themselves.

All stood in some semblance of uniform, looking groggy and generally out of it, the team awkwardly congregated before the Quinjet like a heard of nervous schoolchildren, looking around while simultaneously watching the Commander for their next move. Stepping out of the plane, the man himself takes three steps into the hanger bay, jerks bodily like he had suddenly been slapped across the face, and screws his face up. Winston stood taller than all of them, by a good amount and with his broad shape and sharp angles of uniform, cast a dark shadow over those stood behind him.

"Fuck this place," Winston growls, and Micah snorts. He turns on them. "Right, thanks to American air traffic control, it's late." The Commander addresses them quickly. "We'll meet up with the rest of the unit, and afterward, get some rest. We'll start with everything tomorrow."

Davenport, having realized that her, herself and her other's all tended to cause their dear Commander some mental unease and therefore started keeping her clones off to one side, examined the hanger with a curl of the lip and regarded the man himself with something like distaste. "Tomorrow?" She asks.

Winston grunts. "Medical, primary examinations; Psych evals. All that shit." Seemingly sensing the wave unease through the team, he looks up from the tablet he held in his hand. "Don't worry about it." He reassured them. "It's practically nothing. The Director'll probably just hand you as sheet of paper and say 'sign your name here, here and here', and the doctors'll probably just assess your ability level, y'know, per the Accords. You'll have to get used to seeing them; they'll be working with you all on control and moderation."

"Speaking of," Devanport replied. "You know how I feel about that."

"I know," The Commander threw his arm up to look at his watch. "I was supposed to go over that with you, wasn't I?" A hum, and he looked at Dutcheval.

The man shrugged.

"Right," Winston leaned backward to the point of very nearly bending at a forty-five-degree angle and spotted a group of jumpsuited individuals. He brought two fingers up to his mouth and, with little warning, whistled hard at them. "Get this stuff into the Squad Bay," he ordered with a shout. Then, to the team. "Let's move out. Remember, first impressions and all."

Smirking as they started to all walk in through one of the main doors, which Winston held open with his key-card, rather than having everyone sign in individually, Micah deliberately waited until last, and, before moving through, promptly turned on her heels and shouted at the top of her voice: "Fuck this place!"

Winston gave her a withering look as he shut the door behind them, but didn't say anything. Micah could have sworn that the asshole himself was smiling.

Micah could have sworn that the asshole himself was smiling.

 **[PRIORITY RED]**

On top of the three fireteams worth of people, there were also four specialists enlisted within PRIORITY RED. Almost all of them were present in the Squad Bay when the rest of them arrived. The Commander made the introductions.

Kennedy Davanport, the confident, stylish woman who could replicate herself god knows how many times, Micah already knew. The same went for Pasternak, who had kept to herself for the most part since her introduction and, according to Winston, wasn't as much as a 'team player' as much as an external support member who, along with the XO of the Iliad and some dude named Dante, were there for 'external measures'. The Commander informed them that such was a fancy word for 'SHIELD wants other Non-PRIORITY RED Core Units involved in case they turned into HYDRA again'. Agent Pakele, the illusion-throwing little New Zealander, they had already met. The same went for Damian Leon, who was another one who liked to keep at arm's length.

The rest of them, most of them, were here. It made for an awkward first meeting, so many individuals all being in the same room.

"Agent Montgomery," Winston introduced, like this was Circle Time at playschool or something and they all had to stand up and say one thing about themselves to the rest the group — only, the Commander saved them of the embarrassment of that particular icebreaker, thank god. "She's the last component of Fireteam JASON, Micah, Dutch." He looked toward Micah. "She'll be in the field with you lot. So I expect the three of you to start getting to know each other on a tactical level at some point."

Micah looked over at Montogomery. She was tall, and exaggerated said fact by standing with a sure, straight posture, with a shock of red hair that contrasted well with ice blue eyes. She looked edgy, Micah decided, and then wondered if that poor bastard Dutch was able to deal with two moody ladies in his team.

"And no," Winston continued. "We do not have any pets here in PRIOIRTIY RED," He looked at Montogomery. "It's aaaaall Tigress."

Some of the people who had likely been with Montgomery the longest sniggered. The woman gave him a pointed look in return, and then, an even sharper one at the Commander, but Winston was a man that had withstood the glare of more frightening people, for many many centuries. He brushed it off with a smirk, returning his attention to his tablet.

"Agent Levithan meanwhile is very recognizable. I ask that you all keep the SHIELD Discrimination practices in mind. She can't help it, she _has_ to stand out with her terrible breach of the uniform code."

Another set of sniggers, but it's good-natured, and Micah flips him off with only half the usual grievance.

"You've all met Agent Leon," at the sound of his name, Damien Leon, who had been stood off away from everyone else, quietly burning in his corner, glanced over. "And he'll be on Fireteam SIMON with Agent Davanport. You two will also be with someone by the name of Winters, whom the Director has thrown at me, but she's incarcerated until further notice. Depending on how everything goes you'll meet her soon."

Devanport pushed an elegant hand up against her hip. "Uh oh," she winked at Leon, who may or may not have squirmed. It was hard to tell.

"You may notice, that Agent Davanport gets around a lot," Winston called out, and Dutch suddenly smirked. "And you should know that, yes, this woman can replicate. Gentlemen, feel free to take that as you wish." Someone wolf whistles, and it sets the group off laughing. Davanport winks at whomever made the noise. "Agent Leon meanwhile is our resident firestarter." He looks up. "For interest of safety, I want to remind the squad that there are three emergency exits and two fire extinguishers on the premises." Another burst of laughter.

Winston directs a flat palm towards Kaili Pakele, who blinks at him in sudden surprise. "Over on Fireteam DECLAN, we have Agent Pakele." Winston shakes his head and looks down at his tablet. "If you suddenly wake up not in your bed where you last were, I ask that you firmly redirect all your grievances toward her, as I've got enough on my plate with Agent..." Winston bent himself slightly to see through the crowd. "Walsh!" He slapped his hand against the back of his tablet. "Agent Cassandra Walsh, who will also be with you Pakele on Fireteam DECLAN. And because I _know_ this is going to come up, no, ladies and gentlemen, none of you have the abilities of Davanport herself; it's Agent Walsh being creative."

The woman herself gives the Commander a shit-eating grin. "You _did_ nearly shit yourself, boss."

"Have you seen this face?" Winston directs at himself absently. "It's any wonder you lot haven't already bolted." Sucking against the back of his teeth, Winston pressed something on the screen of his tablet, and hummed under his breath. "There will be someone... else, I think, on your team but I have yet to be introduced. It won't be an issue at the moment, as we'll be on recon more than actual hyper-rapid deployment in combat engagements, but we'll get it sorted soon."

The Commander waved a hand at Pasternak. "Not-Quite-Agent Regina here is our resident IT expert. She'll be the one behind the computers on our engagements while she is with us. The Director has plans for Regina so we need to make the most of her while she is here." He turns to the woman in question. "I'll have one of the techs show you to Command Central, get you sorted out."

The woman herself didn't make any indication that she had heard Winston; behind her computer, she typed away without any change in rhythm.

"Elijah Browning meanwhile is our resident engineer. Talented man." Winston gave the man a smile, and then said, without changing his facial expression. "A-Bomb here also the degenerate who has caused us all to have bi-weekly radiation screenings. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Agent Browning _does_ emit deadly gamma radiation. For this reason, he will be segregated at night in a secure room. Regardless, he's also the site's resident nuclear physicist so, take what you will. If you want help with your physics homework..." He looks to the man again, this time with a more absent facial expression. "The suit we have had designed should be ready for tomorrow morning, the folks in RnD have informed me."

Browning nodded. He was all-in-all unspectacular, with a slim build and dark hair, but that was a welcome change. "And the dosimeters?" He asked.

"You'll have to ask the quartermaster, Einstein. I'm a soldier, not a... whatever you are." The Commander waved a hand. "Captain Charles, whom you folk who came from the ship with me have already met, won't be here until Thursday next week. Captain Charles, ladies and gents, is our resident Tactical Analyst. When we're on missions, she'll be the one directing us. Give her any shit and you'll have to deal with me." Winston looked down at his tablet. "Not sure which is worse, to be honest."

"We also have Agent Lucen with us today," Winston called out, and directed to a quiet young man stood off to one side. "Please keep any and all water more than a centiliter away from him, or he'll fall apart like wet tissue paper." More laughter, and Agent Lucen himself rolled his eyes, tucking himself away further.

Winston meanwhile waved a hand at Dutch. "You should know this walking smile by now. If not, this is Agent John Dutcheval. He's my Primary Lieutenant. When not answering to me or Charles, you'll answer to him per rank order." He gave the other man a weary look. "If you must find yourself participating in... extracurricular activities with this man, I ask that you do so away from the squad bay. Leon, I'm looking at you."

Suddenly, most of the squad bursts into harder, surer laughter, and at Leon's confused face, Winston smirks.

"As for me, you should know who I am. I'm Agent-Commander Winston T. Bezuidenhout, or, if you want to get accurate, Marcus Salvius Titanius of Italica, Hispania Baetica, which no longer exists... and ceased to about... two thousand odd years ago." At the look on some folk's face, he smirked. "Yes, I _am_ that old. I have participated in the greatest military expansion in Roman history as Legate; that's a General to you kiddies, of the XXX Ulpia Victrix. I've been swinging a sword for over a millennium, and I still do today, depending on my mood." Checking something off on his tablet, he rolls his eyes. "I must ask you all to keep your history jokes to yourself." He looked back up at them all, and deadpanned. "Trust me, _I've heard them all before_."

 **[PRIORITY RED]**

Morning came with a burst of sunshine and a bustle among the population. At around half eight, Micah awoke with some difficulty in a single room which she did not immediately recognize as her own.

Her first thought was one of bewilderment. Her first thought was that she was back... there, with the blank walls and matching linens all stored on one side, but the longer she stared; and then noticed the recently painted SHIELD insignia on the wall, the quicker it became evident that she was in her new quarters. Lay in a single bed with an unfamiliar pillow and sheets twisted around her legs and middle, Micah blinked.

Then, she lifted herself onto her elbows and looked around the room, attempting to stifle the disorientation.

Yes, she decided when she caught sight of her meager belongings, this was her new room.

It wasn't much. But then, Micah wasn't exactly used to 'much' either, having been raised in a lab and then, SHIELD Academy, which did not last long itself. It was spacious given the room size, due to most of the furniture aside from the bed being built into the wall, but it was also blank, awaiting personalization. The 'welcome package' that came with the room told her that she could do just that, mildly; so long as the furniture wasn't removed and no permanent changes were made, they could do what they wanted within reason. Micah hefted herself up into a sitting position and wondered what she might do, if anything at all. Maybe should could make something herself. Although it would probably have to wait.

Because they all had instructions to get into their PT kit after breakfast at nine, it turned out. Winston had apparently trumped someone called Agent May to get dibs on the gym for that hour, and he wasn't going to waste it.

Sighing, Micah stood and disentangled herself from the clingy sheets, before moving off to the small bathroom. It was one of those ones that just barely had enough room for a shower and a toilet. Very small, but it was private. Her mind endlessly played on the fear, but she tried to push it back. After all; being stuck in a small space where other's might enter is bad, yes, but SHIELD seemed to understand that such was unfavorable. With a door that locked, you were locked in, yes — but everyone else was locked out. And it was she who had the key. Humming to herself and trying to make the rationalization stick, Micah began to wash up quickly and noted with either displeasure or annoyance that SHIELD had gone ahead and got her some fancy-ass women's shampoo and conditioner on her behalf. Soap, too. Some strange pink number that was a brand she did not recognize. Thankfully all the towels were a plain and simple SHIELD blue or stark white.

She decided that having a shower after some physical exercise would probably be better than doing so before. So after brushing her hair with little success, it remaining wild and free despite any and all of her attempts, Micah shrugged, brushed her teeth, made sure there were no other glaring imperfections and then went to go and find that stupid uniform.

It fit well, and the 'modifications' she had made to the back in order to give her wings space to move worked well, overall. The make was ambiguous, but they were good quality, at least. The fact that the Commander had allowed them all to wear what they wished off hours was a slight attempt at a compromise; wear it when he wants, and whenever else, be free. Micah smirked as she tied her laces up, and when she was finished, she stood up to come face to face with her proper uniform; the one that was so big that it needed a physical unit to itself, which was behind clear plexiglass. She noted with glee that it wasn't set out 'properly' like the handbook instructed. The knees were not yet ruined on this uniform, but it was better, she thought. The fabric was thinner, and the body armor suited to her needs. Light. More streamlined.

SHIELD needed to take a long hard look at it's budgeting, she thought.

There was a thump at her door.

Turning sharply, Micah panicked and the first thing she did was kick the six pack of beer she had swiped from the main common room that night under her bed. Turns out it was a good idea, because it was the Commander. The bastard leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe when Micah wrenched it open, bare arms folded haphazardly across his chest, eyes lidded and rough with sleep, lips curled in dozy malice. He could never quite muster his usual depravity in the mornings, she has since noticed.

"Well if it isn't my favorite anarchist," he grunted. "How urgently hungry are you?"

It was an odd, yet not totally unexpected given the circumstances, question. One that Micah took a moment to answer. "Not massively," she grumbled in reply. "And why am I the anarchist?" She demanded. "I thought Leon might be better at that shit."

"Leon knows the rules, as far as burning buildings down goes," Winston shrugged, and Micah took a step back. Mostly because being near someone that damn... physically perfect, was borderline on awkward. Not that he interested her; Winston was physically old enough to be her father and appeared to have firmly put everyone on his team in the Child Play Area, in terms of relationship zones. It was more along the lines of; this man was immortal and yet, still, was tall and well built _and_ good looking, in a basic male way, like God had given him all the damn luck in the world. Or, he had thousands of years of practice. Micah assumed the latter. "And I'm asking because I'll need your help."

"You, need _my_ help?" Micah frowned.

"Let's just say I need negativity to combat the negativity." The Commander rumbled, and them, seemingly having all the ammunition. "You can have my pancakes. Dutch makes them. They're really good, and I eat enough for three men."

Micah narrowed her eyes. "Your beer rations and your desert, and maybe."

"Fine," Winston growled, and turned away from the door. He didn't indicate for her to follow, but Micah had the suspicion she didn't have a choice. Groaning, she folded her arms and followed on after him.

"So what do you want?"

"I need you for a... _meeting_." He finished lamely. "The Director wants some outside source on the team; she's this... fucking thing from Russia, some kind of augmented HYDRA assassin that hates us and has been on the run for awhile. We need to get her on our side and, between the pair of us, it just might work. Y'know, you being you and all."

Granted, Micah was thankful for his bluntness, but still. "Hey fuck you, asshole."

"I meant it as a compliment," Winston grumbled, just about looking over his shoulder. "And 'sides, it might take two of us to take her down." He shook his head. "I don't give a shit what the Director says, personally; a threat like that, I don't want on my team, but..." He rolled a hand in his agitation. "Don't want to get stripped down and decommissioned before first flight now, do we?"

He eventually lead her down into the hanger bay, where the holding cells were located. Sure enough, sat strapped into a metal chair was a woman who Micah could see being a HYDRA assassin. She was very thin, but you could see the muscles on her arms, along her middle, and she turned to them to show a face that was well trained, but spoke of some serious shit; eyes that looked older than her face allowed and a scar that took up the majority of her face.

"I want you to stand behind me," Winston told her as he looked down onto the console beside the door, and pressed a few settings. Something changed in the room, and for a moment the woman inside the cell had her attention turned away, until the door slid open and Winston started walking in.

He sat down, hands braced on his knees, and he stared the woman down.

There was a long, long period of silence. Micah took her place behind him and leaned against the white, strange walls, and glared at the woman in front of her.

"Let me guess," the woman spoke eventually. Then, work a cruel little smile. "You're here to recruit me."

"I'm here to follow orders," Winston replied as he slapped his tablet down in front of them both, on the table. "I don't give a shit what happens to you, darling."

"Then why am I here?"

Winston glanced up, and leaned against the palm of his hand, which was propped up by the elbow, against the table. "Because the state wills it," he replied. "But I'll go ahead and tell you right now, that you'll have only one choice in this." He flipped the tablet around and slid it toward her, so she could see. "You have one opportunity, as far as I am concerned. You will either sign the documents here, become SHIELD personnel effective immediately and be drafted into my unit, or you'll be transferred to the nearest SHIELD high-security holding facility where you will be held for an undisclosed period until they deem you safe enough to release into the public again — which, newsflash, love, will probably never happen." A small smile. "Especially with your track record."

"And if I decide that I want neither?" She asked bluntly.

"You'll have made a very sorry mistake," Winston replied just as flippantly.

She sniffed. "What are you? You're nothing. I could have escaped ages ago!" She scowled at them. "And even if I did, if I smiled sweetly and said yes, I could just kill all of you and be done with it. I will never work for SHIELD!"

Winston hummed and slowly, very slowly, braced himself against the desk. "See, that is where you are wrong. I'll illuminate three reasons why you will not do any of that." Fingers curling around the edge of the desk, he stared right at her. "First of all, in the unlikely scenario that you manage to overpower both of us — for, my dear, the young lady behind me is just as much as an overpowered so-called super soldier as much as you are, you will be immediately sedated by the team of personnel who are overseeing this meeting." He tapped a finger against the desk, seemingly in thought. "Second of all, you will have nothing — absolutely nothing, if you leave, because you'll spend the rest of your life in cryo-suspension."

He leaned forward.

"And thirdly, perhaps the most important reason, is that if you somehow do manage to somehow survive against fourteen highly dangerous individuals, you won't be able to outrun me, not forever." He smiled, then, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Not if I kill you first."

His smile didn't waver. "You can kill me all you want, love; but I _died_ a long time ago."

The woman frowned and Winston stared a little longer before saying anything else.

"Granted, you can kill me, but I'll just come back. Again, and again, and again, and if you so much as put one hand on any of my team members, I'll come back with vengeance, each and every time, until I've ground you into the earth and there is _nothing_ left," he was getting angry. Micah could hear it. The foreboding rumble that indicated the beginnings of a full-blown explosion of temper, but his anger was cold. That was the difference. "And you can kill me, you can kill me twice, three times, fifty, nine hundred, but I'll keep on coming back and I'll hound you, over and over again, forever, until you have paid for it."

He leaned back after a moment of silence, and then folded one leg over the other.

"Tell me, do you want to take out a loan you can only repay with your life?" He looked her up and down. "Surely you have _something_ to live for."

The woman was quiet for a moment.

"That something isn't SHIELD." She replied, but her anger had been dulled somewhat, maybe due to the potency of Winston's threat.

"Maybe not," He shrugged. "But you spend, what, three or so years here until the Director finally has enough sense to let you go and, what? Is it any skin off your nose?" He stood, suddenly, carrying his weight like a solid thing; easily and swiftly. "I'm not asking you to get along with us; I'm fairly certain that you couldn't even if you tried, or that we'll even give you the time of day in turn, but HYDRA caused a lot of pain, a lot of anguish, and you're the one who's got to repay. You've killed a lot of people in their name." A shrug. "And if you don't? Fine. We win then because we took you out of the field for good. One less potential enemy out of the fight."

The woman held another moment of silence, and eventually, through gritted teeth. "If I work with you, I may leave eventually?"

Winston shrugged again. "You're human, you have rights. Those SHIELD personnel are under a three-year deployment, everyone else is here for a twelve-month period minimum. What happens afterward is up to the Director."

She looked back, behind Winston and at Micah. "And you?" She asked.

Micah mirrored Winston's shrug without thinking, and smirked. "I'm in it for the pancakes," she snorted and then, at Winston. "Speaking of."

The man smiled, and eased himself. "I did promise," he replied easily. Then, toward the woman. "You have an hour to make your decision."

And like that, just as easily as they came in, they take their leave. The woman watches them unblinkingly as they do so, and it takes them all the way up until they've reached the elevator for Winston to snap.

Suddenly, violently, he slams the back of his head into the wall of the elevator, hard. Then again, and again. For a few seconds, he just stands here, watching Micah watch him with nigh on horror, and he shakes his head.

"Do you sometimes ever just wish..." He was about to say more, when the elevator doors open and the Director, all smart suits and winning smiles, is stood there. Winston immediately schools his features into something that passes for blank, and Micah tries, and fails, to hide the scowl.

"Winston!" He greets with the same smile. "How did it go?"

"About as well as can be expected," Winston replies, gruffly. "We'll just have to see, sir."

The Director gets in, and Micah groans under her breath. "Winston! Come now, we expect great results from PRIORITY RED! I hope you won't disappoint me."

Winston gave him a twitch of a smile, and Micah glared at space between the Director's shoulderblades.

Yeah, she thinks. Fuck This Place.

[PRIORITY RED]

Uhuhuhuhuh, It's been awhile, Sorry. Work and all.

Yes, Winston can 'reanimate' himself. It doesn't quite work in a way that 'changes' because he died a long time ago and ergo his physical 'state' is identical to how he first 'died', hence his non-aging ability, but... yeah. Winston is powerful in the sense that he has nigh on a millennium of expertise; aside from his uncanny ability to come back, he's baseline human. His only real advantage is his stubborn streak.

As for Micah, I hope I got her right. She's an interesting one, Micah. Very fun to write as well. Her powers are very... combat orientated? So that'll happen at some point. I've always wanted to write someone mid-flight, like Iron Man. Noice.

Next time is, actually, one of our Naturals. Elenor Heyes will be our next character POV with a mix with third person POV. So I'll see you then. If there are any spelling mistakes, I'll fix them tomorrow; right now I've got a takeaway, Pepsi and Civilization VI, sooooooo~


	6. (3) EPISODE 1, CHAPTER 3, THE FOLLOWER

[3]

 **PRIORITY RED**  
 **EPISODE ONE  
** CHAPTER THREE

THE FOLLOWER

When Romulus was a boy, eight years old and alone in a big empty house with big empty rooms, he went outside and drowned the housekeeper's boy, who was a year younger than him, in the pond behind the house. He did it to see if he could.

He told the housekeeper he had fallen in.

 **[PRIORITY RED]**

Thursday brought with it a dripping, infrequent rain. Charlie brought with her three cups of Starbucks coffee and a couple of dozen turkey bacon & egg white breakfast sandwiches, with hash browns.

"So this is action stations," she examined Pasternak from her vantage point, dragging her gaze up and down the shorter woman, calculating. "Well, it's better than the Iliad, I suppose."

The Playground was not designed for housing a large number of agents in what one could describe as a "headquarters" scenario. That is what the Hub was originally for. You couldn't effectively provide back-end support for every on-going operation within SHIELD through the Playground, and Mace knew it. He'd promised a new site when took charge — maybe even the old Hub, which would have been indeed useful — but until then, Priority had to make do with a former locker room that had been stripped and fitted with spare radio and computer equipment.

While on the move, they would use the Quinjet. Right now, however, they were stuck with this.

At least Pasternak seemed pleased.

Ish.

"You are Captain Charles?" She asked of Charlie, who immediately stuck a hand up in horror and corrected her on that one.

"Charlie," she grumbled as she set down her drinks and snacks. "Or Captain, or Hey You, or nothing at all, neh? Aint nobody gonna call me otherwise, not even the top five."

If Pasternak had any issues with that, Charlie didn't care. She'd had the whole SitRep with the Commander over the little things, like names and whatnot, but honestly, Charlie called people by what she wanted to call people, and she didn't quite fancy that girl's last name herself, either. She'd come up with something eventually, as for now...

"Righto, Computer Science, let's get this gone and over with. You're still in education, right?" She didn't wait for the younger woman to reply, but nodded. "Good — it means you're not allowed out on the field, unless you pass basic training, which, I might actually add, is a bit of a shitter for you because it's fourteen weeks in a freezing cold base in the middle of the Alaskan frontier for you lot, now. You'll be on the other side from here on out; that means when I tell you to do something, you do it, otherwise our guys out on missions end up getting capped in the ass with bullets because we didn't do our jobs correctly." A huge bite is taken out of the first sandwich. "I'm on communications and tactical relay; I watch them and make sure they've got everything they need to know. Building blueprints, enemy locations, all of the above."

It was a bit of a downgrade, considering how back on the Iliad, Charlie was once responsible for providing special intelligence communications to the warfare commanders both internal and external to the battlegroup, as an enlisted cryptologic specialist. Then the Iliad received a special NAVSECGRU Direct Support Element which provided tailored support electronically, and Charlie was "promoted" in compensation.

"You meanwhile are on Intelligence. What I can't do, you do. Geddit?"

Pasternak very nearly flinched at her choice of words, and Charlie sighed. She had come from the Academy in the fabled years of "SHIELD Slang" and therefore had a rhythm to speech that you only found in around seven percent of current graduates; the rest of them having either died during the HYDRA-SHIELD war or retired early lest they got arrested. A few of them were still serving, and Charlie knew them when she saw them because they spoke exactly the same way. It was the little things, in-jokes and memes, almost, as they quietly passed along little nudges and old references while they were standing guard for endless hours and patrolling endless hallways, a separate language. From "nothing to see here carry on", to eating old rations and "mm, takes just like dead comrade" to; "you're surplus to requirements" and "I'm matt the radar technician" — to the Eh, Neh and Eye-Eye; Bicho and _in dis army we speak the SHIELD, yeh?_

They were speaking completely different languages here. Charlie took another bite out of her sandwich and shook her head. Okay. Basic English for this kid then. Fine.

"You keep an eye on the news and the internet and generally do anything I cannot; you're the guardian angel out there, get that?" She waved at the banks of computers. "From making sure that the systems are operational to keeping an ear out for potential reinforcements; police and military activity. What we do is make sure that those guys on the ground don't have any nasty surprises." Taking another bite out of her sandwich she grimaced. "When not on missions, you'll be keeping everything in check; equipment and tech, mostly. That Elijah fellow will be helping you with that. Y'know, when he's not leaking radioactive waste and all."

The girl nodded. She was nothing like Charlie would have expected from SHIELD personnel; most of what Charlie was used to was Iliad, and therefore Robert Gonzales' own personal idea of SHIELD, with it's proper and trim agents who could all lift their own body weight and run a 10K run in less than twenty minutes. Whatever top-tier agents Fury hadn't pinched went to Gonzales. This girl here, with her long-ass hair and unusual attire — no uniform, Charlie might add, which means that she can't go on the field regardless, with her rain thin physique and odd demeanor was nothing like Charlie was used to. Charlie was used to soldiers and professionals; suit, tie and armored kevlar. Not... whatever the hell she was supposed to be. Some student. A smart one; bloody well smart, but a student nonetheless.

"And what is it we are to do now?" The girl asked her, voice clear and deliberate with stresses on words that Charlie did not expect.

"Us?" She smirked. "We get the honorable task of installing the new SHIELD OS on these ancient dinosaurs. Like Windows 10, but for Secret Agents, and much more fun."

 **[PRIORITY RED]**

Once upon a time, Cyrus had been a good man.

That is to say, he worked on the 'right' side of the law; with SHIELD, the old one, for the good of the world and whatnot. Now... well, he did what he did, on his own terms, for someone else. Without Deck, he was all out of regular options, didn't care for other alternatives, and that, actually, suited him _just_ fine.

The woman he has hired for this particular task sits before him now. Purely on the whim of Cyrus, he might add; in the middle of Chicago, in an up state bar that serves him for free.

She doesn't want to be here.

To any person of average intelligence, it would not be obvious. But Cyrus knows this woman, even if she doesn't know it herself, every curve of skin and every strand of hair and every lurid imperfection because Cyrus examines his assets with a most careful consideration. That, and he's a genius, and so it is crystal fucking clear to him. Russian Vodka clear. He doesn't like Vodka. But to prove that nothing can undermine his self-control, he has some now. In an octagonal-based glass decanter. Vintage. Swedish, hand carved, he deduces from the indented Kosta Voda insignia upon its base.

Something happened, Cyrus knows. Exactly what is beyond his immediate comprehension, but it is something viscerally private and smarts at her subconscious, that bitch of a concern that endures like a parasite. A cockroach, like SHIELD, he thinks. Except, SHIELD probably would not withstand a nuclear blast.

Hm, now that is an idea.

Cyrus observes Eleanor Hayes from across the table. She is uncomfortable being here, being sat before Cyrus, and the result is somewhat like watching a nervous child trying to find something to look at. Her abilities make her closed off an distant, but Cyrus has the means to defend himself against such, and therefore her standoffish nature, while distinctly caring, is simply nothing more than adorably naive. If she was a more direct woman, Cyrus would have harbored more than just a professional interest.

Instead, he leans his head back and slides a folder across the table.

"Genevieve Mahoney," he takes another sip of that infernal white liquor and grimaces around the taste. "On behalf of my... associates, I want you to find her for me."

 **[PRIORITY RED]**

PT had a number of different forms; from exercising on equipment to sparring, to individual exercises, stretches, all the way to individual 'Talent' therapy; which was what the eggheads back in the labs called training an ability. For some of the team members, it was simple; Dutch had his weights and his sparring matches with the faster opponents that could match his grossly immense strength output (Raven is willing to swear here; she has never seen a man so short lift that much weight), Levitan did a lot of stretching to combat some incompatibility with those wings of hers; other team members like Browning did the standard reps with additional marksmanship. Some of them got stabby with knives. It was unique to the individual while keeping up with the standard requirements expected of all SHIELD Enforcement Division personnel.

"At the end of the day, fighting is all about amplifying your strengths in combat without allowing your strengths to amplify your weaknesses," the Commander explained on the first day. "So in layman's terms; if you're shit at something, work on it as much as you work on what you're not shit at, lest your shittiness impacts your performance."

"Eloquent." Raven had sneered. At the time, she had enjoyed digging at the man, because in her eyes authority needed to be challenged. Now, at least, she realizes that it might not be the best of plans.

Because now she was in the ring with him. Turns out, the Commander had been boxing since he was a Legionary back in biblical times. He got very excited when Raven's file fingered her as a boxer. Although, he reassured her, he wouldn't actually fight her until he was confident that she could handle it. That smarted at the time.

"You calling me weak?" She had snapped and Winston shook his head.

"I've got at least three-quarters of foot on you and at least ninety kilos extra weight," Winston had replied as he started gearing up. "If you want to beat on someone, start on a punching bag. I can't use you on the field if you're carrying bruises. If you want to fight me, fine, we can do it when we both have a week to recuperate afterward, but we're On Call here."

He had a point, Raven had to admit. She'd seen him practice. A 'Swarmer' by definition, it was an old-boxing style of just overwhelming an opponent by applying constant, no changing pressure until they either gave in or ended up on the floor. Raven would have an advantage in speed, but like the man said; if he did do some damage and they had to move out, what then? She hated his logic. Mostly because it was true.

Stood with his legs apart and hands up, Raven sunk a right punch into the hand holding the right catching mit, with a tremendous slap of leather that echoed around the room. Another right, and then a left to Winston's left. He took the blows while watching her form, expression grim. Dancing in front of him, gloved fists up, she watched him frown.

"Concentrate." He ordered. Raven delivered three punches in quick succession. Right, left, right. Winston slapped his own gloved hands together. "Right, come, come."

She hooked his left hand, then delivered three more quick jabs.

"Harder!"

She attempted to deliver more force.

"C'mon, more force!" Another hard jab, very nearly over the arm, bent his hand and wrist backward. They circled as Raven gave another blow. "Don't sleep!"

He slapped his hands together twice as she got ready to advance again.

A solid one, two, three that barely even made him flinch was what Raven could give. He frowned again.

"Keep your guard up!" He shouted. One, two. "You're to take them out!"

Another series of hard beats, and he swore under his breath.

"Keep your fists up!" He barked. Raven gave him a crisp set of jabs, but, didn't keep her hands far up enough, because he swiped his hand across and whacked her against the ear with the sharp end of his mits. The force behind her blow made her head jerk to the left. "Your fists up!" Raven snarled and have returned the force with a hard one, two. "Move it!" He called, and cut through her guard by tapping her on the nose. "Again!"

A series of punches hammered on him until he appeared to have decided on an end, because before Raven could react, he grabbed both of her fists and threw them down.

He nodded.

"Good." Flicking the mitts off, he directed to the ropes. Raven stood there as he unlaced her boxing gloves. "You've got the strength and the skills but your technique needs some work; your guard is sloppy, and if it came to hand to hand combat a well-rounded opponent would have blown through it before you could react. Don't punch if you lack balance. While you might forget about being 'humane', you need to consider your own defense. Only use front hits if you feel like you've got the advantage." He unlaced the last glove and slid it off her hands. "Of course, use that strength of yours. A lot of opponents won't expect such a raw power output from you. Only by doing so will you reach your full potential, and it should give you an edge if you're part of the big fights. Make 'em pay for underestimating you."

Raven frowns at him and asks, hoarse and breathless, chest concave. "What big fights?"

"SHIELD used to have a number of tournaments in sports, like boxing," he grabbed a nearby water bottle and handed it over. "We don't have the resources to do all of them anymore, like the shooting and the drill, but I talked to Mace and he thinks we can start on the martial arts and pugilism again. Happens, when you have a population of individuals who have expertise in the fighting arts. A bit of competition never hurt anyone, well, much."

"And the next one?"

"In the winter. Split into three sections; Agents, Enlisted and Top Tier, which are then separated according to weight. Agents aren't normally as built up as what we consider here the enlisted troopers to be, so they fight separately. You'll be in the enlisted section since you came to SHIELD and joined Priority, which falls under the Enforcement Division; that means not punching the spies and suits, unfortunately. You get to hit it out on soldiers your own weight." He nodded then, almost pleased. "If you manage to get through to the Top Tier, though, you'll be all mushed together. Still separated by weight, but you'll be against the best of the suits." He gave her a small little smile. "Train hard enough and I'll put you in to represent our team."

That appealed to Raven. That really, really appealed to her.

"So, get under the shower. We've got another ten minutes until update time. I want you all in the squad bay."

 **[PRIORITY RED]**

And, sure enough.

"Well you lucky bastards, looks like we've finally got a hit!" Charlie smirks as she throws Winston a reinforced tablet. "Time to see what this team is made of, eh?"

 **[PRIORITY RED]**

"Right, listen up Priority! This is where you make your mark and prove your worth. From this moment on, you're my little soldiers, you understand? From the second you sign this, this mission will be yours, and anyone who wants to drag you away I'll have to drag me away too, because I'll be holding onto your collar. And you might well be thinking there's no one that can drag that much, Priority, and you'd be right. The mission, ladies and gentlemen, Agents, and Troopers..."

 *****  
STRATEGIC HOMELAND INTERVENTION, ENFORCEMENT AND LOGISTICS DIVISION  
** **OPERATIONS DEPARTMENT**  
 **S.H.I.E.L.D. SSRII PRIMARY FACILITY**

MISSION ASSIGNMENT

TO BE ISSUED FOR:  
 _S.H.I.E.L.D. SPECIAL OPERATIONS UNIT BRAVO-9, "PRIORITY RED" compl. with ALL ACTIVE PERSONNEL W/ ACTIVE CONSULTING ASSET(S)_

 *****  
WARNING:** **  
** **This document and the information contained herein is classified as LEVEL CLASSIFICATION, RED SEVERE as per _Executive Order 13292, OFFICIAL STATE COMBINED ACT., 2013., LEVEL CLASSIFICATION ORDER_.**

 **FURTHER DISTRIBUTION AND/OR DUPLICATION OF INTELLIGENCE BEYOND THIS POINT IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED.** **  
** **RIGHTFULLY AND WILLFULLY ORDERED UNDER:** **  
** _OFFICIAL STATE COMBINED ACT., 2013., LEVEL RED SEVERE CLASSIFICATION ORDER_

S.H.I.E.L.D. SPECIAL OPERATIONS UNIT BRAVO-9, "PRIORITY RED" compl. with ALL ACTIVE PERSONNEL W/ ACTIVE CONSULTING ASSET(S) assigned S.H.I.E.L.D. MISSION OPERATION: " _SURVALIANCE: THE FOLLOWER_ "  
 **EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY  
** S.H.I.E.L.D. SPECIAL OPERATIONS UNIT BRAVO-9, "PRIORITY RED" to report to S.H.I.E.L.D. SSRII PRIMARY FACILITY Mission Preparation Room C, AGENT-COMMANDER BEZUIDENHOUT, Winston #REK 00ED003 for further mission brief & mission deployment.

Sp INSTRUCTIONS:  
1) REPORT TO SUPERIOR OFFICER FOR MISSON BRIEF AND MISSION DEPLOYMENT: AGENT-COMMANDER BEZUIDENHOUT, Winston #REK 00ED003, LOCATED AT: SSRII PRIMARY FACILITY Mission Preparation Room C. S.H.I.E.L.D. SPECIAL OPERATIONS UNIT BRAVO-9, "PRIORITY RED" is therefore relieved from previous duty at S.H.I.E.L.D. SSRII PRIMARY FACILITY. Dependent travel and movement authorized to designated location.  
2) DEPLOY AS ADVISED.  
3) FULFILL MISSION PRIMARTIERS [ _SURVALIANCE: THE FOLLOWER_ ] AS FOLLOWS: _Following Concreate Intelligence Regarding OPERATION: LEGION, Person Of Interest Has Been Identified And Further Surveillance Is Advised. S.H.I.E.L.D. SPECIAL OPERATIONS UNIT BRAVO-9, "PRIORITY RED" Will Be Deployed To Chicago, IL 60610 Where Intelligence Suggests Person Of Interest:_ _Hayes, Eleanor L. 21, Female Is Currently Located As Of 09/05/2016 14:23. Continued Surveillance of Person Of Interest(s) Hayes, Eleanor L. 21, Female And Identification of Third Parties Of Relevance To OPERATION: LEGION Is **AUTHORIZED**. Deadly Force against Person Of Interest(s) __Hayes, Eleanor L. 21, Female_ _is **UNOTHARIZED**. Capture/Arrest of Person Of Interest(s) Hayes, Eleanor L. 21, Female And Third Parties Of Relevance to OPERATION: LEGION is **AUTHORIZED**_. _THIS MISSON IS CLASSIFIED: LEVEL RED._

Further Mission Brief:

1) The Inhumans

The Inhumans, according to scientific theory, are a sub-race of Homo Sapiens resulting in genetic experimentation from [CLASSIFIED] which altered their genetic code with the potential to acquire seemingly unnatural side-effects and/or characteristics known through a processes called "Terrigenesis". The altered genes of Homo Sapiens are considered to be dominant characteristics, capable of being passed on genetically to descendants. Many of these few individuals chose to live in modern society peacefully among the normal population, in hiding, or through living ordinary civilian lives.

However, separate violent incidents eventually forced the hand for the creation of the settlement, Afterlife.

2) The Conflict Scenario

Evidence linking to Afterlife could be connected to individuals within Hunan Province, China, which frequently described sensitive intelligence regarding [CLASSIFIED]. During WWII, HYDRA General Werner Reinhardt, captured these individuals and the artifact they spoke of, eventually discovering [CLASSIFIED]. Before he could discover [CLASSIFIED], he was forced to evacuate after Allied forces stormed his headquarters.

During the SHIELD-HYDRA War, the [CLASSIFIED] was to oversee the rise of the Inhumans. SHIELD Agent [CLASSFIED] was later connected with the perpetrators involved. During the protracted conflict, both the Agent and the [CLASSIFIED] were exposed to Terrigen Mist, and both underwent Terrigenesis. After multiple incidents, SHIELD later underwent attempts to draft a peace treaty between themselves and the Inhumans, as relations were considered unreliable. Through Indexing and documentation, former SHIELD Director Robert Gonzales went to form a meeting with [CLASSIFIED], and a peace offering was formed - however, [CLASSIFIED] then later turned against her word and proceeded to damage relations by attacking Gonzales and framing him for attempted murder.

3) The Inhuman Conflict

War was declared on SHIELD shortly thereafter, resulting in widespread damage and casualties on both sides. The destruction of the Supercarrier Iliad resulted in many SHIELD Personnel being killed, and it was only retaken after a change in mission priority.

The conflict continued to the extent where many SHIELD personnel and Inhuman casualties were suffered, including the death of up to 86% of the Iliad crew and the former Director, Robert Gonzales.

4) The Aftermath, ATCU, the Sokovia Accords, and SHIELD

After the SHIELD-Inhuman War, Terrigen substances dissolved into the Atlantic Ocean, releasing Terrigan Mist which was later absorbed into the ecosystem. Nature Max Supplements Fish Oil Pills were contaminated, distributing to the wider public and, when consumed, thousands of Inhuman descendants all underwent Terrigenesis, creating numerous complications of varying threat level.

Immediately, the Advanced Threat Containment Unit was established to help curb the sudden explosion in Enhanced population. It's leader, Rosalind Price, assumed SHIELD to blame for multiple Inhuman deaths. This belief was only rectified when HYDRA's involvement proceeded to come to light, in which a small alliance was formed. During the continued conflict between HYDRA, it's front company the ATCU and SHIELD, which eventually lead to the death of Price, HYDRA was defeated, however not without succeeding in it's own mission.

[CLASSIFED] attempted to undertake a wide-scale terrorist attack to detonate an atomic warhead to expand [CLASSIFIED]. Ensuring that the human race was not wiped extinct in one blow, former SHIELD Agent [CLASSIFIED] sacrificed himself by flying the plane harboring the device into space, killing them both, and thusly, ensuring the survival of Earth.

After this event, SHIELD underwent a revival period, where upon accepting the Sokovia Accords, it was to be reinstated as a legal organization under the newly instated Director Jeffery Mace.

5) The Inhuman Legion, "Romulus II" and John Caverly.

In late 2012, John David Caverly was a SHIELD Academy of Operations and Espionage Cadet serving his fourth year. Highly successful and the son of two former Agents, Caverly was being groomed for a high-end SHIELD position before it's fall. Throughout the events of the SHIELD-HYDRA war, it is believed that Caverly, a highly charismatic religious leader, convinced half of his Cadet year not associated with the HYDRA terrorists to join what he described as an "Anti-Army" of SHIELD, under the belief that such a large population of highly-trained recruits could not go to waste.

The time period between John Caverly stepping down from his position as leader to the former SHEILD Cadets and undergoing Terrigenesis is unclear, but it is expected that the founding of the Sokovia Accords and the increase of Inhuman hate crime had prompted Cavelry - now operating under the moniker of "Romulus II" to create an Inhuman-based terrorist organization.

The Inhuman Legion's goals are henceforth: 1) Eliminate all threats to the Inhuman population by any means necessary, 2) Forcibly 'recruit' dormant Inhumans by forced Terrigenesis, 3) Actively pursue 'awoken' Inhumans through private detectives such as _Person Of Interest(s) Hayes, Eleanor L. 21, Female_. 4) Train Inhumans for eventual 'leadership' roles, suggesting a possible Inhuman 'takeover', 5) Activity 'breed' Inhuman partners to produce additional Inhumans through selective breeding programs. 6) Educate and imbue Inhumans under their doctrine.

Where the Inhuman Legion is located is currently unknown, but it suggested that there are several key locations around the globe in which the Legion operates, including several 'residential communes', where Inhuman 'Legionaries' reside, train, and raise their families.

The limited information on the Inhuman Legion suggests an attack on the human populace as a whole is very likely, and the continued abduction of Inhuman innocents a certainty.

6) The Person of Interest.

There is a separate file on _Person Of Interest(s) Hayes, Eleanor L. 21, Female_ with further information.

Eleanor Hayes was the daughter of two HYDRA agents, who were killed during the SHIELD-HYDRA war. She discovered her enhanced abilities sometime during the Inhuman Crisis, and used her abilities to later 'track' individuals.

It is strongly believed that the Inhuman Legion is purchasing Hayes' services to increase their Inhuman numbers.

7) The Role of PRIORITY RED

This mission is classified as a Covert Surveillance mission.

PRIORITY RED is to shadow _Person Of Interest(s) Hayes, Eleanor L. 21, Female_ until an opportunity arises to either find the prospective Inhuman she is tracking, or a Thrid Party engagement of the Inhuman Legion. A critical success would be achieving Hayes' recruitment as a double agent, while apprehending any prospective Inhuman Legion assets and ensuring the safety of any Inhuman innocents.

 *****  
FURTHER DISTRIBUTION AND/OR DUPLICATION OF INTELLIGENCE ABOVE THIS POINT IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED.** **  
** **RIGHTFULLY AND WILLFULLY ORDERED UNDER:** **  
** _OFFICIAL STATE COMBINED ACT., 2013., LEVEL RED SEVERE CLASSIFICATION ORDER_

SPECIAL ORDERS  
NUMBER 45  
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[PRIORITY RED]

For those who don't know, Cyrus is a recurring character in my older SYOC, STALINGRAD, co-developed by another person. So is John Caverly. They're both assholes.

Major. Assholes.

Anyhoo. This is sort of a part one of two, in a way. Very action heavy writing next time. Lots of fighting.

As for me, I've got numbers to crunch, so I'll see you all lateeer.


End file.
